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LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

PRESENTED  BY 

ROSARIO  CURLETTI 


\UCSB   LIBRARY y-^'/^'^^^ 

PIERRE  '  ^ 


HIS   FAMILY; 

OH, 

A  STORY  OF   THE   WALDENSES. 


y 


Avenge,  O  Lord,  thy  slaughler'd  saint<),  whose  bones 
Lie  bcalter'd  on  the  Alpine  mountains  cold.— jl/j/fon. 


REVISED  BV  THE  COMMITTEE  OF  PUBLICATION. 


PHILADELPHIA. 

no!  146  CHESNUT  STREET. 

—4 


■'■  ^ 


ROSARI. 


# 


7 


# 


PRErACE 

TO  THE  PRESENT  EDITION. 

By  the  Committee  of  Publication  of  the  ATne- 
Heart  Sunday  School  Union, 


The  early  American  editions  of  this  work 
having  been  disposed  of  with  very  great  ra- 
pidity, the  committee  have  taken  this  expres- 
sion of  public  sentiment,  as  a  guarantee  for  a 
still  greater  demand ;  and,  anticipating  the 
sale  of  repeated  editions,  have  had  the  work 
stereotyped,  and  have  added  new  engrav- 
ings. 

The  committee  present  this  little  volume 
with  renewed  interest  to  the  Christian  world, 
as  a  work  well  fitted  to  illustrate  and  enforce 
the  loveliest  traits  of  Christian  character;  and 


IV  PREFACE. 

all  fears  respecting  its  reception  are  removed, 
for  it  has  been  extensively  read  and  as  gene- 
rally approved. 

The  incidents  of  the  narrative  are  so  nearly 
historical,  that  we  may  consider  them  as  abso- 
lutely so,  a  name  being  only  given  to  one  ot 
the  many  families  who  have  triumphantly 
endured  such  trials;  and  in  this  light,  no  apo- 
logy is  necessary,  even  from  a  society  dis- 
avowing all  sectarian  distinctions.  The  state 
of  public  feeling  in  Great  Britain  allowing 
more  license  of  expression  on  these  subjects, 
than  would  be  proper  in  this  country,  the 
language  has,  in  some  instances,  been  modi- 
fied; but  the  general  character  of  the  work  is 
highly  approved;  and,  regarded,  not  as  a 
horrid  picture  of  the  malignant  spirit  of  per- 
secution, but  as  a  display  of  Christian  virtues. 
Contrast,  there  necessarily  is,  between  the 
children  of  the  evil  one  and  the  people  of  God; 
the  mind,  however,  dwells  not  on  the  dark  and 
gloomy  cloud,  but  on  the  bright  light  which 
glows  throughout  it.  No  revengeful  feeling 
is  kindled  in  the  breast,  while  from  the  view 


PREFACE.  T 

of  such  graces  shining  through  such  trials,  the 
lustre  of  Christian  virtue  is  made  to  appear 
more  conspicuous. 

The  history  of  man  through  everj  age,  has 
shown  liim  to  be  the  same  selfish,  despotic  be- 
ing; and  where  we  see  absolute  power,  espe- 
cially in  connexion  with  religious  domina- 
tion, there  may  we  trace  the  grievous  hand  of 
oppression.  It  is  not  the  reproach  of  a  sect, 
but  a  stigma  on  the  character  of  man,  that 
even  the  mild  religion  of  the  Lamb  of  God 
has  been  made  a  cloak,  under  which  to  in- 
dulge the  most  detestable  and  destructive 
passions.  Happily  for  our  own  country,  re- 
ligion here  knows  no  political  power;  yet  does 
it  still  continue  true,  that  "  those  who  will 
live  godly  in  Christ  Jesus,  shall  suffer  perse- 
cution ;*'  and  to  such  as  are  anxious  to  follow 
the  Lord  of  Life,  and  to  partake  with  him  the 
glories  of  his  kingdom,  the  interesting  history 
of  Pierre  and  his  Family  is  recommended. 
Trials  of  various  degrees  of  severity  await 
the  Christian  throughout  his  warfare,  and  it  is 
l)is  high  duty  to  meet  them  in  the  exercise  of 
A  2 


Tl  PREFACE. 

holy  principles,  stern  and  unyielding  in  truth, 
meek  and  amiable  in  temper  and  in  action.  It 
is  the  exhibition  of  this  character  in  its  faith- 
fulness and  its  loveliness,  that  is  considered 
the  principal  object  and  chief  merit  of  this 
work,  which  is  cordially  recommended  to  the 
reader. 

Philadelphia,  1842. 


INTRODUCTION. 


"During  the  dark  ages  which  succeeded  the 
invasion  of  Europe  bj  the  barbarous  nations, 
when  feudal  anarchy  distiacted  the  civil  go- 
vernments, and  a  ilood  of  superstition  had 
deluged  the  church,  Christianity,  banished 
from  the  seats  of  empire,  and  loathing  the 
monkish  abodes  of  indolence  and  vice,  meekly 
retired  into  the  sequestered  valleys  of  Pied- 
mont. Finding  there  a  race  of  men  unarrayed 
in  hostile  armour,  uncontaminated  by  the 
doctrines  and  commandments  of  an  apostate 
church,  unambitious  in  their  temper,  and  sim- 
ple in  their  manners,  she  preferred  their  so- 
ciety, and  among  them  took  up  her  abode.'** 

This  beautiful  passage,  from  the  elegant 
and  eloquent  historian  of  the  Churches  of  the 
AValdenses,  suggested  the  idea  of  the  follow- 
ing story;  in  which  an  attempt  is  made  to 
sketch  the  peace,  industry,  and  homefelt  hap- 

*  History  of  the  Waldenses,  connected  with  a  Sketch 
of  the  Christian  Church :  by  TVilliam  Jones, — from 
■which  work  the  information  contained  in  this  chapter 
is  derived  nearly  verbatim. 


8  IKTRODUCTION. 

plness  of  a  family  in  one  of  the  villages  of 
the  valleys,  and  then  very  simply  to  exhibit 
the  nature  of  the  persecution  to  which,  from 
generation  to  generation,  the  people  of  God 
have  been  exposed  in  almost  every  Catholic 
state  of  Europe. 

It  is,  however,  well  known  to  every  reader 
of  history,  that  many  Catholics,  in  every  age, 
have  exceedingly  disapproved  of  the  measures 
followed  by  the  priesthood,  in  regard  to  the 
Waldenses,  Albigenses,  and  other  Protestant 
Churches;  and  the  singular  note  which  is 
quoted  at  the  end  of  this  volume  shows  how 
strong  and  how  generous  was  the  sympathy 
felt  by  many  a  noble,  and  by  more  than  one 
royal  Catholic,  for  the  wrongs  and  sufferings 
of  the  early  Christians  of  the  valleys. 

For  the  information  of  my  readers,  it  may 
be  necessary  to  state,  that  Piedmont,  the 
place  to  which  Christianity  is  said  to  have 
withdrawn,  is  a  tract  of  country  situated  at 
the  foot  of  the  Alps,  an  immense  range  of 
mountains  which  divides  Italy  from  France, 
Switzerland,  and  other  countries:  it  consists 
of  a  number  of  beautiful  valleys,  embosomed 
in  mountains,  which  are  again  encircled  by 


INTRODUCTION.  9 

ot^er  mountains,  and  displays  in  its  varied 
scenery,  in  most  striking  contrast,  all  the  fer- 
tility and  beauty  of  Eden,  with  lakes  of  ice 
and  mountains  covered  with  eternal  snow. 
Many  of  the  passes  leading  into  Piedmont 
are  strongly  fortified,  not  by  art,  but  by  na- 
ture, which  Ihas  so  multiplied  her  bulwarks  of 
rocks  and  rivers,  forests  and  precipices,  that 
"it  appears,"  says  Sir  Thomas  Moreland, 
"as  if  the  Ail-wise  Creator  had,  from  the 
beginning,  designed  that  place  as  a  cabinet 
wherein  to  put  some  inestimable  jewel, — or  in 
which  to  reserve  many  thousand  souls  who 
should  not  bow  the  knee  to  Baal." 

But  Christianity  was  not  always  secure 
amid  the  valleys  of  the  Alps:  she  had  some- 
times to  escape  for  her  life, — to  leave  the  val- 
leys behind  her, — to  cross  the  mountains  in 
ice  and  snow, — and  to  seek  shelter  in  Dau 
phiny,  in  Provence,  and  even  in  the  recesses 
of  the  Pyrenees.  There,  also,  beautiful  val- 
leys are  to  be  found,  rich  in  every  thing  that 
is  sweet  to  the  taste,  or  pleasant  to  tlie  eye, 
— adorned  with  the  flowers  and  fruit  of  the 
citron    and    the   orange — the  aloe  and    the 


10  INTRODUCTION. 

pomegranate — animated  by  herds  of  deer,  and 
cheered  by  the  song  of  the  vintage. 

Behold,  then,  in  these  valleys,  the  retreats 
of  a  most  interesting  people,  who,  in  times  of 
misrule  and  oppression  in  the  State,  and  of 
bigotry  and  superstition  in  the  Church,  pre- 
served, in  simplicity  and  in  purity,  the  "faith 
once  delivered  to  the  saints."  Men  that  con- 
tinued, from  race  to  race,  a  separate  people, — 
like  the  Hebrew  fathers  of  old,  who  went  from 
one  nation  to  another,  and  from  one  kingdom 
to  another  people, — so  the  Christians  of  those 
early  ages,  "hunted  as  partridges  on  the 
mountains,"  and  stigmatized  as  heretics  by 
their  enemies, — when  persecuted  in  '*  one 
city,  fled  unto  another;"  and,  when  dislodged 
from  the  shelter  of  one  lovely  valley,  retreated 
to  the  sequestered  bosom  of  some  other. 

These  interesting  and  persecuted  people 
were  called  Waldenses.  It  is  thought  by 
some  that  the  reason  why  they  were  so  called, 
was  from  the  Latin  word  vallis,  from  which 
the  English  word  valley^  and  the  ecclesiastical 
word  Valdenses,  are  both  derived;  the  latter 
simply  signifies  the  inhabitants  of  valleys. 

The  AValdenses  were  exceedingly  hated  by 


INTRODUCTION. 


11 


^e  monks  and  clergy  of  the  church  of  Rome, 
who  called  them  heretics.  Their  heresy  con- 
sisted in  the  belief  of  the  truth  as  set  forth  in 
the  Bible,  and  in  their  contempt  of  many  cere- 
monies and  practices  of  the  Roman  Catholics, 
Among  other  things,  the  Waldenses  affirmed, 
that  the  mass  signified  nothing;  that  the  apos- 
tles knew  nothing  about  it ;  that  whatever  was 
preached  without  scripture  proof  was  no  bet- 
ter than  fables ;  and  they  would  neither  kiss 
the  altar,  the  priest's  hands,  nor  the  pope's 
feet.  They  placed  no  value  in  absolution, 
saying,  none  could  forgive  sins  but  God  only. 
They  gave  no  credit  to  the  legends  of  the 
Baints ;  and  despised  alike  their  mock  miracles 
and  their  relics.  They  dreaded  all  dedica- 
tions and  benedictions  of  candles,  ashes,  oil, 
fire,  salt,  water.  They  said  that  Christ  never 
gave  to  his  disciples  either  rockets  or  mitres ; 
they  dissuaded  people  from  going  on  pilgrim- 
age, and  they  denied  the  existence  of  purga» 
tory,  saying,  '*  where  the  tree  falls,  there  it 
lies. "  They  considered  once  praying  in  the 
words  and  spirit  of  the  Lord's  prayer  better 
than  the  ringing  of  ten  bells  or  than  the  mass 
itself.    They  declared  they  saw  no  efficacy  in 


12  INTRODUCTION. 

the  priestly,  vestments,  altars,  ornaments, 
palls,  corporals,  chalices,  and  patins.  The 
worsliip  of  images,  and  their  presence  in  the 
churches,  tliej  affirmed  to  be  idolatrous.  But 
the  very  head  and  front  of  their  offending  was 
this — they  could  say  great  part  of  the  bible 
BY  heart! 

But,  wliile  such  were  the  sentiments  lield 
and  expressed  by  the  people  of  the  valleys,  and 
which  must  have  been  extremely  offensive  to 
the  Catholics,  it  is  but  justice  to  both  parties 
to  state,  that  the  Catholic  historians  of  that 
day  bear  ample  testimony  to  tlie  excellence  of 
the  morality  of  tliese  persecuted  heretics,  ex- 
cept, in  some  instances,  where  their  accusa- 
tions are  so  absurd  and  so  extravagant  as  to 
carry  with  them  their  own  contradiction. 

•"^  These  heretics,"  writes  an  inquisitor  of 
that  age — "  These  heretics  are  known  by  their 
manners  and  conversation,  lor  they  are  orderly 
and  modest  in  their  behaviour  and  deport- 
ment; tiiey  avoid  all  appearance  of  pride  in 
their  dress;  they  are  chaste,  temperate,  and 
sober;  they  seek  not  to  amass  riches;  they 
abstain  from  anger;  and  even,  while  at  work, 
are  either  learning  or  teaching."     A  Catholic 


INTRODUOTIO.V.  13 

prelate  says  of  tliem — ^' Their  heresy  except- 
ed, they  generally  live  a  purer  life  than  other 
Christians.  In  their  morals  and  lives  they 
are  perfect,  irreprehensible,  without  reproach 
among  men." — "They  are  true  in  words," 
says  anotlier  inquisitor,  "  unanimous  in  bro- 
therly love,  but  their  faith  is  incorrigible  and 
vile,  as  I  have  shown  in  my  treatise." 

This  faith,  however,  which  the  Dominican 
anathematized  as  incorrigible  and  vile,  was, 
notwithstanding  his  assertion,  both  divine  and 
holy — the  faitli  that  purifieth  the  heart, 
worketh  by  love,  and  overcometh  the  world; 
tlie  faith  of  the  martyrs  and  confessors  of  the 
primitive  church;  the  faith  that  supported  the 
first  martyr,  who,  in  the  exquisite  agonies  of 
an  excruciating  death,  went,  as  it  were,  to 
sleep  in  peace  and  stillness  amid  all  the  tu- 
mult of  his  persecutors,  saying — *'  Lord  Jesus 
receive  my  spirit!" 

One  circumstance  more  might  be  added  to 
this  sketch  of  the  character  of  these  deposi- 
taries of  truth, — these  lights  of  the  world  in 
the  days  of  darkness;  I  mean  the  zeal  with 
which,  as  the  missionaries  of  their  age,  they 
B 


14  INTROnUCTION. 

sought  to  instruct  the  uninformed,  and  the 
simplicity  with  which  they  communicated  to 
others  their  knowledge  of  that  Bible  which 
was  withheld  from  the  Roman  Catholic  laity, 
and  of  which  many  of  the  clergy  knew  nothing. 
But  as  the  folUnving  story  is  intended  to 
convey  this  information  to  the  juvenile  reader, 
and  to  interest  him  in  the  truths  of  that  Bible 
which  the  Waldenses,  in  some  measure,  pre- 
served, and,  through  God's  blessing,  have 
handed  down  to  us, — I  shall  not  here  antici- 
pate what  follows ;  but  cast  myself  upon  the 
generosity  of  my  readers,  praying  that  this 
little  book  may  not  pass  through  their  hands 
without  a  blessing  from  Him  who  can  alone 
make  any  means  of  instruction  profitable ;  but 
who  is  sometimes  pleased  to  magnify  his  own 
Omnipotence  by  the  very  weakness  and  feeble- 
ness of  the  instrument  which  he  employs. 


PIERRE 
AND  HIS  FA»III.ir. 

CHAPTER  I. 

"  Hark  I  thp  note, 
"  The  natural  music  of  the  mountain  reed — 
"  For  here  the  patriarchal  days  are  not 
"  A  pastoral  fable — pipes  in  the  liberal  air, 
"  Mix  with  the  sweet  bells  of  the  sauntering  herd." 

In  a  secluded  valley  of  the  Alps,  bordering 
on  the  confines  of  Piedmont  and  Dauphiny, 
on  the  marffin  of  a  little  lake,  which  renected 
on  its  limpid  bosom  the  mountains  that  sur- 
rounded it,  stood,  some  hundred  years  a^o, 
the  beautiful  village  of  St.  Madelaine-de- 
Belleville. 

The  approach  to  the  village,  from  the  side 
of  France,  was  through  a  defile  of  the  moun- 
tains, narrow  and  wild,  along  the  banks  of  a 
river,  so  circumscribed  in  its  course,  that  it 
had  worn  itself  a  passage  fearfully  profound 
in  the  rock  that  formed  its  bed.  The  foam  it 
threw  around  it,  the  rapidity  of  its  current, 
and  the  thundering  noise  with  which  it  deaf- 
ened the  traveller,  not  unfrequently  intimi- 
dated him ;  and  he  sought  to  escape  from  its 


16  PIERRE  AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

tumultuous  and  raging  presence,  as  from  the 
pursuit  of  some  furious  enemy. 

As  tlie  road,  on  one  side,  wound  along  the 
edge  of  precipices  wliich  overhung  the  river, 
so  on  the  other  side  it  was  bordered  by  masses 
of  rocks  covered  on  the  top  with  earth  and 
verdure,  which,  rising  one  above  another,  car- 
ried, from  lieight  to  height,  as  on  so  many 
stages  or  platforms,  the  beautiful  pines  of 
the  Alps;  whose  dark  green  hues  appeared 
strongly  contrasted  with  the  silvery  whiteness 
of  the  bark,  and  graceful  branches  of  the  birch 
trees,  which  hung  their  drooping  foliage  in  a 
thousand  forms  below. 

Among  the  rocks,  in  the  ^voods,  and  along 
the  sides  of  the  road  were  seen,  at  every  step, 
the  beautiful  flowers  of  the  gentianella,  and 
the  blue  bells  of  the  campanella;  sweet  vio- 
lets with  yellow  hearts,  the  wood -anemone 
with  its  white  flowers,  and  the  dark  auricula 
of  the  Alps,  which  scattered,  in  rich  profu- 
sion, upon  that  mountain  air,  the  fragrance  it 
refused  to  yield  when  transplanted  to  the 
gardens  of  the  plain. 

In  coming  out  of  this  pass  or  defile,  the 
valley  and  village  of  St.  Madelaine  gradually 
opened  to  the  view,  and  presented  in  sweet- 
est contrast,  an  aspect  infinitely  lovely, — its 
lake,  its  meadows,  its  vineyards,  its  groves 
of  mulberry  trees,  its  antique  cottages  mostly 
built  of  wood,  witli  high  chimneys  running 


PIERRE  AXD    H13    FAMILY.  17 

up  into  the  air  like  so  many  church  steeples; 
while  the  mountains  beyond,  piled  one  above 
another, ^ — the  glaciers  sparkling  with  t)ie  most 
dazzling  whiteness, — pyramids  and  obelisks 
of  granite,  formed  by  nature,  and  covered 
with  perpetual  snow; — altogether  formed  a 
scene  of  greater  contrast,  beauty,  splendour, 
and  softness,  than  imagination  can  conceive, 
and  which  could  not  be  beheld  without  in- 
spiring emotions  at  once  of  terror  and  delight, 
such  as  might  be  felt,  but  which  language  is 
quite  powerless  to  describe. 

At  a  little  distance  from  the  village,  beyond 
the  mulberry  trees  at  the  end  ot  the  lake, 
stood  the  cottage  of  Pierre  de  Beawoisin, 
its  round  roof  and  high  chimney  peeping  out 
from  amon^  the  boughs  of  a  beautiful  cha- 
taigner  which  shadefl  it  from  the  powerful 
beams  of  the  sun.  Above  the  threshold  of  the 
cottage  were  carved  the  names  of  two  ances- 
tors of  Pierre,  who,  driven  by  persecution 
from  their  native  valley  in  the  bosom  of  the 
Pyrenees,  had  here  taken  shelter,  and,  re- 
taining their  own  language  and  their  own 
customs,  and  bestowing  them  upon  their  de- 
scendants, had  been  the  first  to  establish  this 
little  domicile:  and,  like  the  rest  of  the 
houses  in  the  village,  each  of  which  bore  some 
moral  sentence  or  pious  distich  inscribed  over 
the  door,  there  was  sculptured  (m  the  front  of 
Pierre's  little  cot,  the  salutation  of  the  hospi- 
Bi2 


^ 


& 


^ 


18  PIERRE  AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

table  Syrian  of  old,  "  Come  in  thou  blessed  of 
the  Lord,  wherefore  standest  thou  without." 

Pierre,  thougli  the  son  of  one  of  the  pastors 
of  the  valleys,  was  nevertheless  a  soldier, — 
we  should  not  saj  by  profession,  but  by  com- 
pulsion. He  had  been  made  so  by  one  of 
those  many  and  cruel  acts  of  oppression  to 
which  the  peaceful  inhabitants  of  tliese  .se- 
cluded regions  sometimes  were  exposed,  and 
from  which  they  had  neither  escape  nor  re- 
dress. Among  the  other  reproaches  and 
calumnies  with  which  the  Waldenses  were 
loaded,  disloyalty  and  disaffection  to  the 
princes  under  whom  they  lived,  had  often 
been  attached  to  their  character.  One  reason 
for  this  calumny  arose  from  their  repugnance 
to  war,  their  distaste  to  the  profession  of  arms, 
and  their  consequent  refusal,  so  far  as  possi- 
ble, to  serve  in  the  armies  of  the  state.  It 
was  not  always  practicable,  however,  for  their 
young  men  to  elude  the  levies  ordered  by  the 
government  in  the  provinces ;  and  it  was  on  an 
occasion  of  emergency  when  it  was  necessary 
for  the  village  of  St.  Madelaine  to  furnish  its 
quota,  that  the  lot  had  fallen  upon  Pierre, 
who,  witli  an  aching  heart,  saw  himself  en- 
rolled in  the  army  of  the  king;  for  at  that 
time  the  valleys  belonged  to  France. 

Old  de  Beauvoisin,  his  father,  bore  with 
submission  this  sore  stroke,  which,  at  that 
time,   he    considered   a  grievous  evd:    but 


^ 


PIERRE  AND    HIS    FAMILY.  19 

Pierre,  forgetting  his  own  distress,  comforted 
Ais  father,  by  reminding  him,  that  he  had 
called  his  attention,  when  a  boy,  to  the  cha- 
racter of  Cornelius  the  devout  centurion; — 
that  he  had  pointed  to  the  Roman  soldier,  at 
the  cross  of  Christ,  as  bearing  a  testimony  to 
his  divinity  which  priests  and  scribes  refused 
to  give ;  saying  that  religion  belonged  to  no 
peculiar  profession  exclusively,  but  that  men 
might  glorify  God  in  the  camp  and  in  the 
guard-room,  as  well  as  in  the  closet;  and, 
though  such  a  field  of  duty  would  never  have 
been  chosen  bv  him  for  any  of  his  family,  yet., 
while  the  world  continued  constituted  as  it 
was,  there  were  many  things  that  ou<rht  to  be 
silently  submitted  to  from  the  powers  that  be; 
because,  by  that  very  submission,  the  Great 
Power  above,  that  ordained  them  all,  was 
more  glorified  than  by  resistance. 

Pierre  had  accordingly  been  a  soldier  from 
the  time  of  his  first  enrolment,  which  hap- 
pened about  two  years  after  he  was  married. 
He  had  served  indifferent  countries, — after 
every  campaign  returning,  for  intervals  of  a 
month  or  two,  to  his  native  valley.  Blanche, 
the  beautiful  wife  of  Pierre,  never  accompa- 
nied him  to  the  wars,  but  remained  at  home 
to  bring  up  her  family,  and  to  take  care  of  the 
aged  pastor,  her  father-in-law. 

Old  Beauvoisin  was  the  father  of  a  numef' 
ous  family,  on  whom  he  had  no  inheritance  to 


20  PIERRE    AXD    HIS    FAMILY. 

bestow,  but  that  of  an  example  of  pre-eminent 
piety,  and  an  education  such  as  few  in  those 
days  even  amongst  the  highest  ranks  of  life 
could  boast.  By  these  advantages  his  chil- 
dren had  happily  profited;  but,  as  St.  Made- 
laine  was  too  poor  to  support  more  than  one 
pastor,  the  sons  of  the  old  man  liad  wandered 
from  valley  to  valley,  and  had  become  teach- 
ers, merchants,  or  artisans,  in  other  places ; 
one  only  having  obtained  the  pastoral  office, 
who,  on  the  death  of  old  de  Beauvoisin,  suc- 
ceeded him  in  the  charge  of  his  beloved  flock, 
being  a  man  of  the  same  mind  and  of  the 
same  heart,  and  taught  by  the  same  Spirit,  as 
his  father.  From  these  circumstances  Pierre 
had,  even  when  at  home,  rarely  seen  any  of 
his  father's  family,  except  tiie  old  pastor  him- 
self. He  had  now  been  dead  some  time,  and 
Pierre  was  to  see  another  occupying  his  place. 
For  the  war  being  finally  ended,  and  a  treaty 
of  peace  concluded  at  Naples  with  the  differ- 
ent powers,  they  were  about  gradually  to 
withdraw  their  forces;  but  Pierre,  who  had 
risen  to  a  rank  above  that  of  a  common  sol- 
dier, having  been  wounded  in  the  last  encoun- 
ter with  the  enemy,  was,  with  others  of  the 
sick,  returning,  before  the  rest  of  the  troops, 
an  invalid  to  his  beloved  valley. 

It  was  on  a  beautiful  evening,  succeeding  a 
day  of  sultry  heat,  when,  partially  recovered 
from  his  wounds,  but  still  languicl  and  faint. 


PIERRE    AND    HIS    FAMILY.  21 

that  Pierre  de  Beauvoisin,  with  others  of  his 
comrades,  was  put  on  board  a  polacca  in  the 
port  of  Naples,  bound  for  Marseilles,  for  which 
destination  they  sailed  at  sunset.  The  air 
was  calm  and  cool,  and  Pierre,  coming  from 
the  heated  atmospliere  of  a  crowded  hospital, 
felt  revived  and  refreshed  as  he  inhaled  ihv 
softness  of  the  zephyr — for  breeze  it  could 
not  be  called — which  came  down  loaded  with 
fragrance  from  the  groves  of  Posilipo  and  the 
gardens  that  bordered  the  lovely  shore.  He 
sat  till  a  late  hour  upon  the  deck,  gazing  at 
the  flaming  mountain,  which  like  a  giant  with 
a  giant's  torch,  lighted  them  out  of  the  bay. 
The  fleecy  clouds  hovering  in  mid  air,  the  sky, 
and  the  liost  of  heaven,  which  appeared  as  if 
illuminated  by  its  fires,  were  reflected  on  the 
bosom  of  the  deep;  and,  as  the  waters  be- 
came uiidulatory  round  the  prow  of  the  po- 
lacca, she  seemed  to  be  treading  out  a  thou- 
sand stars. 

During  the  tedious  voyage — for  at  that  time 
the  Provencals  were  the  worst  sailors  in  the 
^vorld — Pierre  beguiled,  or  rather  improved 
the  time,  by  thinking  of  the  many  mercies  of 
God  which  he  had  received,  but  especially 
praising  him  for  tlie  great  blessing  of  peace 
to  the  nations ;  and  that  he  should  not  again 
be  called  upon  to  resume  the  avocations  in 
which  he  had  now  been  so  long  engaged ;  and 
for  the  sweet  hope  which  he  enjoyed  of  soon 


22  PIERRE  ASt)    HIS    FAMILY. 

rejoining  his  beloved  family,  and  of  being 
again  employed  in  the  pastoral  occupations  of 
the  valley.  He  also  spent  many  an  hour  in 
reading  and  meditating;  on  that  precious  book 
Avhich  nis  dear  and  venerable  father  had  be- 
queathed to  him  as  his  ...dying  legacy,  and 
which  he  valued  above  all  things  iji  the  world. 
Pierre  would  try  sometimes  to  prevail  on  the^ 
soldiers  to  listen  to  him  as  he  repeated'to  them 
portions  of  the  Hoi);  Bible j  for  he  durst  not 
venture  to  confess,  among^he  Catholics,  that 
the  book,  in  which  he  so  often  read,  was  the 
Book  of  God,  lest  it  should  have  been  told 
to  the  monks  and  friars  who  were  accustomed 
to  frequent  the  camp  to  shrive*  the  dying 
men,  and  thereby  have  been  taken  from  him. 
While  the  soldiers  and  the  Proven 9als 
would  try  to  beguile  the  tedium  of  the  voyage, 
by  reciting  to  each  other  stories  of  chivalry  or 
romance,  or  legends  of  their  fabulous  saints, 
ivith  tlieir  trumpery  miracles;  Pierre  would 
sometimes  say  to  the  soldier  next  to  him,  or 
to  his  comrades,  as  they  loitered  about  th^ 
ship,  "Come  now,  my  friend,  come  now,  com- 
rades, it  is  my  turn  to  speak,  listen  to  me ;  I 
will  tell  you  of  that  which  is  better  than  the 
legends  of  a  thousand  saints,  and  more  pre- 
cious than  the  spoil  of  a  taken  city.  Listen, 
and  you  shall  judge. "  He  would  then,  offering 

*  To  hear  confessions. 


PIERRE    AVD    HIS    FAMILY.  23 

up  a  silent  prayer  to  God  for  his  blessing  on 
his  own  word,  begin  to  repeat  IVoni  menioiy, 
connecting  fact  by  fact,  and  minutely  iletailing 
every  sacred  incident,  without  interruption  to 
the  regular  narrative,  tiie  exquisitelv  simple 
relation  of  the  nativity,  life,  sutferings,  and 
death  of  Him  who,  though  the  Ancient  of 
Days,  humbled  iiimself  to  become  a  little  child, 
and  who,  though  the  Lord  of  Life,  became  obe- 
dient unto  death,  even  the  death  of  the  cross. 
And,  whether.it  were  the  beauty  of  iiolia4:;i>s, 
or  the  divine  tenderness,  or  the  unpuied  an- 
guish of  the  Man  of  Sorrow%  that  affected 
the  hearts  of  these  rude  auditors, — or  whether 
it  were  the  -power  of  the  word  of  God  that 
touched  their  .  softened  souls, — Pierre  could 
not  tell;  but  many  a  time  he  saw  a  tear  stand 
in  the  eye  of  the  bandit  by  his  side,  who  could 
iiave  trod  through  fields  of  blood,  unmoved  and 
unrelenting:  he  also  observed,  with  wonder 
and  with  joy,  that  often  the  seaman  at  the 
helm,  as  he  raised  his  dark  eye  from  the  bin- 
nacle, to  the  weather-vane  upon  his  topmast, 
would  pass  his  hand  across  his  iron  face  to 
dash  away  the  gathering  tear-drop  from  his 
cheek,  and  whistle  a  song  the  while  to  conceal 
from  others  his  emotion. 

It  was  thus,  in  reciting,  from  time  to  time, 
passages  of  Holy  Writ  to  his  untaught  and 
superstitious  companions,  as  they  lay  upon 
deck,  either  wrapt  in  their  cloaks  in  the  even- 


24  PIERRE    AND    HIS   FAMILY. 

ing,  or  under  the  awnin»  in  the  heat  of  the 
day,  that  Pierre  passed  the  period  of  his  voy- 
age. After  the  manner  of  his  own  people, 
most  of  whom  had  the  greatest  part  of  the 
Bible  by  heart,  and  who  may  be  considered 
as  the  Missionaries  of  those  days,  Pierre  com- 
menced, whenever  an  opportunity  permitted 
him,  with  some  passage  from  the  scripture, 
and,  without  pretending  either  to  explain  or 
to  exhort,  Would  give  it  in  all  its  own  sacred 
simplicity,  saying,  "And  it  came  to  pass  in 
those  days,"  or,  "In  the  days  of  Herod  the 
King,"  or,  "In  the  sixth  month,  the  angel 
Gabriel  was  sent  from  God  unto  a  city  of 
Galilee  named  Nazareth."  While,  with  the 
same  singleness  of  heart,  and  artlessness  of 
mariner,  he  would  introduce  other  parts  of 
scripture,  beginning  with  a  silent  petition  to 
God  for  his  blessing  and  grace,  then  adding, 
"  A  certain  man  had  two  sons," — or,  <^  Tliere 
was  a  certain  rich  man  who  was  clothed  in 
purple,"— or,  "  There  was  in  a  city  a  judge." 
At  other  times  he  would  relate  to  the  soldiers 
the  battles  of  Joshua — of  Gideon— of  Jeph- 
thah — the  defeat  of  Sisera,  and  the  stratagem 
of  Jael:  and  often,  often  was  he  called  upon 
to  recount  again  the  combat  of  David  and  the 
giant,  and  to  describe  tlie  armour  of  the  cham- 
pion of  Gath.  To  the  sailors  Pierre  would 
detail  the  voyage  of  Paul ;  his  embarkation  in 
the  ship  of  Adramyttium;  his  arrival  at  the 


PIERRE    AND    HIS    FAMILY.  25 

Fair  Havens;  his  perilous  voyage  and  ship- 
wreck; how  the  angel  of  the  Lord  stood  by 
liim  in  the  ni^-ht  and  enc()urao;ed  him  to  pro- 
ceed— or  he  wouhl  enter  into  all  the  interesting 
circumstances  of  the  ship,  and  the  terror  of 
the  mariners  with  whom  the  disobedient 
prophet  sailed  to  Tarshish — describing  the 
tempest,  the  raging  of  the  sea.  and  •'•how  it 
ceased  from  its  raging." 

It  was  in  this  manner  that  the  pious  soldiei", 
obedient  to  the  w^ord  of  God  which  he  vene- 
rated, and  to  the  precepts  of  his  father  whose 
memory  was  so  dear  to  him.  endeavoured 
freely  to  impart  that  blessing  to  others  which 
he  had  freely  received  of  God;  displaying,  in 
all  he  did  and  said,  the  peculiai-  traits  of  cha- 
racter common  to  the  interesting  people  to 
whom  he  belonged,  and  verifying,  in  an  eminent 
degree,  the  charge  of  the  enemies  of  the  in- 
habitants of  the  valleys,  ••  That  tiiey repeated 
great  parts  of  the  Bible  by  heart  !--^ 

In  tiiose  days  navigation  was  not  so  well 
understood  as  it  is  now;  the  sailors  were  ac- 
customed, except  in  fine  weather  or  in  moon- 
light, to  make  their  vessel  lay-to,  or,  where 
they  were  able,  they  would  cast  anchor  every 
night:  this  made  sailing  very  tedious.  T)e 
Beauvoisin  still  finding  his  wound  painful, 
and  his  health  only  partially  restored,  used 

*  See  note  at  the  end  of  the  volume. 

c 


.• 


26  PIERRE    AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

to  long  to  be  at  liome  again,  where  he  was 
sure  Blanche  would  nurse  him  so  well,  and 
with  so  much  tenderness,  that  he  would  soon 
recover.  This  made  him  look  out  anxiously, 
day  by  day,  for  the  first  peep  of  his  native 
mountains;  and  you  may  judge  of  the  delight 
with  which,  towards  the  close  of  their  voy- 
age, he  beheld  the  Alps,  covered  witli  snow, 
appear  to  his  desiring  eyes,  rising  to  a  won- 
derful height  out  of  the  water, — for  as  yet 
the  plain  and  the  land  were  invisible.  The 
sight  revived  his  flagging  spirits,  and  excited 
his  pious  gratitude:  while  the  Swiss  soldiers 
on  board, — who  had  hitherto,  during  the  voy- 
age, kept  singing  those  pensive  songs  of  the 
valleys,  by  which  its  natives  express  their 
passionate  love  for  their-  country,  and  their 
irrepressible  desire  to  revisit  it, — beheld  these 
snowy  summits  with  emotions  little  short  of 
transport. 

At  lengtli  the  polacca  m:ule  her  port,  and 
all  on  board  beheld  with  delight  the  waters 
of  the  Rhone,  the  galleys  of  France,  the 
towers  of  Notro-Danie,  uikI,  in  short,  all 
those  objects  witli  which,  whethei-  as  citizens 
or  travellers,  they  were  acquainted ;  and,  as 
it  was  here  that  the  soldiers  on  board  had 
twice  embarked,  and  as  often,  after  seasons 
uf  absence,  arrived  on  their  return,  it  was 
just  that  spot  witli  whose  "landmarks  each  of 


PIERRE  AND    HIS    FAMILY.  27" 

them  would  probably  be  most  affectingly 
familiar. 

The  soldiers,  being  obliged  to  proceed  in- 
land to  the  town,  where  they  were  to  receive 
their  official  discharge  before  proceeding  to 
iheir  own  homes,  set  out  the  next  day  at  sun- 
rise on  their  journey ;  and  when  all  was  finally 
settled  at  the  depot,  Pierre,  accompanied  by 
some  of  his  comrades,  who  were  going  part  of 
the  same  route  with  himself,  commenced  his 
journey  homeward  across  the  Alps.  I  shall 
not  enter  into  any  particular  description  of 
the  places  throudi  which  he  passed,  nor  pause 
to  expatiate  on  tTie  mountains,  the  forests,  the 
rocks,  the  torrents  which  he  saw  on  every 
side  as  he  slowly  travelled  along.  Suffice  it 
to  say,  that  the  spot  on  which  Pierre  at  last 
parted  with  his  companions,  was  just  where 
he  first  came  in  view  of  that  particular  outline 
rf  his  own  mountains  that  rose  beyond  his  na- 
tive village,  with  which  he  had  been  familiar 
from  childhood;  whicli  had  often,  on  the  mid- 
night watch  or  in  the  silent  camp,  arisen  to  the 
eye  of  his  mind  ;  or  in  liis  morning  dream  had 
come  before  him  with  exquisite  illusion. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  beauty  of  his 
native  valley,  as  it  opened  to  his  view  from 
the  Pont-de-bois.  Before  him  lay  Sainte 
Madelaine-de-Belleville  like  a  sleeping  in- 
fant, surrounded  by  the  everlasting  moun- 
tains that  seemed  placed  there  for  its  protec- 


28  PIERRE  AND   HIS   FAMILY. 

tion,  and  which  stood  the  immoveable  guar- 
dians of  its  quiet  and  repose,  tlieir  evening 
summits  touched 

"  With  the  rose-tints,  which  summer's  twilight  leaves 
*'  Upon  the  lofty  glacier's  virgin  snow." 

The  air,  fresh  and  pure,  the  beautilul  cul- 
ture of  the  valley,  the  cottages  that  appeared 
at  every  step,  a  sky  of  sweetest  light, — all 
presented  to  the  mind  of  Pierre  whatever  his 
imagination  could  conceive  of  fiden,  that 
happy  place;  and  he  descended  the  steep 
path  before  him  amid  a  waste  of  fragrant 
weeds  and  flowers,  giving  glory  to  Him  who 
had  created  all  this  loveliness,  who  humbleth 
himself  to  behold  the  things  that  are  upon  the 
eartli,  and  who,  in  the  tenderness  of  his  com- 
passions, had  preserved  a  poor  soldier  in  his 
going  out,  and  had  thus  watched  over  him  in 
his  coming  in. 

When  Pierre  at  last  saw  his  own  cottage 
under  the  leafy  shade  of  the  chataigner,  his 
heart  began  to  beat.  Ah  !  what,  thought  he, 
if  any  thing  has  happened  to  Blanche !  what 
if  Hubert  be  sick — or  the  baby  whom  I  have 
not  yet  seen,  be  never  destined  to  receive  its 
fatlier's  blessing !  But  oh !  the  joy  to  behold 
them  all  again. — "  Help  me !"  added  Pierre 
devoutly,  "  0  my  God,  to  sustain  alike  this 
dread  of  evil — and  this  strong  expectation  of 
happiness !" 


PIERRE   AND   HIS    F  AMILY.  31 

When  he  arrived  at  the  said  Pierre,  "and 
was  more  composed:  he  cis  come  upon  ine. 
its  accustomed  air  of  pecuicrcy  to  have  had 
noticed  that  the  vine  upon  i-s  continue  to  be 
ed  nearly  over  the  roof,  and  themselves  are 
two  bee-liives  now,  instead  tuich  more  pre- 
garden.  who  liveth  for 

As  Pierre  entered  within  '  make  interces- 
sure  of  palisadoes  that  ran  »  mav  it  be  given 
and  passed  the  cottage  windo>  re,  "*  more  and 
wrapped  in  his  military  cloak  lany  mercies!" 
light  in  the  lattice,  at  which  I:  et  blue  eyes  of 
a  boy  about  twelve  years  of  a  ,p  in  his  arms 
diligently  reading  liis  grand  vy  thy  blessing 
which  had  been  lent  to  him  b}  be  faithful  to 
an  hour;  for,  in  those  days,  B  to  me.  O! 
precious  that  they  were  alwayse  little  ones 
lock  and  key.  Hubert  did  not  glory  !" 
father  was  coming  home;  he  (  y  engaged  in 
that  he  had  been  wounded,  or  t  out  feelings, 
been  made  by  the  king.  He  k  i  praise ;  he 
in  short,  of  his  father  since  he  -ed  Blanche 
about  a  year  and  a  half  before,  owards  the 
was  in  the  ^\ars,  and  tliat  his  mo  -e  to  open 
cried  M'hen  she  saw  a  soldier.  delight  of 

Hubert  caught  but  a  glimpse  o  :er  whom 
figure  that  darkened,  as  he  passed,  >  greater 
in  the  window;  but  recognizing  the  lanche: 
a  cavalier,  he  ran  out  to  see  who  it  exces- 
in  a  moment  he  was  in  his  father's  arii  'n  had 
Father!  My  Father!"'  was  uttered 
C   2 


S2  PIERRE    AND    HIS  FAMILY. 

done  for  grief  in  his  absence,  no  meeting  ever 
was  more  happy  on  earth. 

But  happiness,  my  children,  among  all 
conditions  of  men,  and  in  every  situation  of 
life,  from  the  most  splendid  to  the  most  hum- 
ble, is  never  unmixed  with  some  kind  of  alloy 
in  this  world  of  imperfection.  When  v/e 
shall  be  perfectly  holy — then,  and  then  only, 
shall  we  be  perfectly  happy.  Pierre  was 
happy  in  beholding  his  wife  and  infant,  and 
his  dear  Hubert,  but  he  inquired  somewhat 
impatiently  for  the  rest  of  his  family.  '•  Where 
was  Antoine,"  he  said,  "and  where  was  Ga- 
brielle?  Are  they  on  the  mountains  with  the 
shepherds,  or  is  Antoine  at  his  lessons;  why 
do  they  not  come  to  see  their  father .»"' 

When  Pierre  began  to  inquire  for  Antoine 
and  Gabrielle,  Hubert  stole  out  of  the  room, 
while  Blanche  rose  and  occupied  herself  as  if 
in  search  of  something  which  she  could  not 
find. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Pierre  again,  half  smiling 
at  his  own  impatience,  and  half  alarmed  at 
her  silence,  "Why  do  you  not  answer  me, 
where  are  the  children  .^" 

"  My  love,"  replied  Blanche,  evading  a 
question  which  she  trembled  to  answer,  "  it 
is  not  yet  sunset ;  the  goats  and  herds  do  not 
come  tlown  so  soon  as  this." 

"  They  will  be  grown  very  much,"  said 
Pierre,   fondly   musing   on   the    remembered 


PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  OO 

promise  of  beauty  and  strength  which  was 
given  bv  his  lovely  daughter  and  playful  boy. 
*^They  will  be  grown  very  tall;  I  sliall  not 
call  her  my  petite  Gabrielle  now  !'* 

^'No,  indeed,"  replied  his  wife,  suppress- 
ing a  sigh  under  a  smiling  countenance. — 
Then,  after  a  little,  she  added,  '-Gabrielle, 
dear  child,  reaches  almost  to  my  shoulder."' 

Pierre  then  conversed  about  his  brother, 
whom  he  had  not  seen  for  a  great  many  years ; 
but  who  was  now  pastor  of  St.  Madelaine,  and 
of  the  adjacent  cottage  and  hamlets  as  far  as 
the  valley  extended. 

"  Our  pastor,"  said  Blanche,  "  left  us  a 
week  ago  to  visit  the  other  cottages  in  the 
valley,  where  there  has  been  much  sickness 
of  late ;  but  Louise  expects  he  will  return  to- 
morrow." 

"It  is  a  long  time  since  I  saw  Pascal," 
said  Pierre  ;  '•  does  he  resemble  my  father  .^" 

"  Yes,  he  does  resemble  our  beloved  fa- 
ther," replied  Blanche;  "^  but  is  what  our  fa- 
ther would  have  been  at  forty  years  of  age, 
or  younger.  Pascal  has  his  countenance,  but 
wants  the  bald  though  beautiful  head,  and  the 
sightless  eyeballs.  Yet  surely  he  has  his 
spirit.  O!  what  a  heavenly  spirit! — The  vil- 
lagers love  him  so  much,  he  is  almost  an  idol 
among  them.  Some  of  the  sounds  of  his 
voice  are  so  like  our  dear  father's,  that  I  some- 
times think  he  speaks  from  the  tomb.     You 


34  PIERRE  AND   HIS    FAMILY. 

will  be  astonished  when  you  hear  Pascal 
speak  to  the  people.  He  makes  them  trem- 
ble, smile,  weep,  and  rejoice  by  turns.  His 
voice,  they  say,  comes  into  tfie  heart,  and 
when  he  pauses  or  ceases  to  speak,  his  eye 
continues  the  sermon.  Yea,  they  say,  liis 
hand  speaks.  The  little  children  love  him  as 
much  as  the  old  people.  When  he  goes  out 
to  walk  at  home,  or  rides  through  the  villages 
of  the  valley,  the  children  follow  him,  and  re- 
peat to  him  their  hymns,  or  they  crowd  around 
him  to  receive  his  blessing.  Hubert  says  he 
will  be  a  pastor  like  his  uncle  and  grandfa- 
ther, because  they  are  so  much  beloved,  and 
do  so  much  good.  Dear  Hubert,"  continued 
the  fond  mother,  *'he  is  a  sweet  boy — he 
comes  to  me  sometimes  when  he  has  done  all 
the  work  I  have  for  him  to  do  in  the  garden 
or  the  dairy,  and  with  liis  coaxing  face,  says, 
*Now,  my  mother,  you  know  what  I  should 
like  so  mucli  to  have  the  loan  of  just  for  one 
hour,  or  for  half-an-houi',  till  Gabriellc  comes 
in,  and  then  I  will  help  her  with  tlie  goats;' 
ii\u\  so  he  goes  on  to  entreat  me  to  lend  him 
your  father's  precious  Bible,  my  dear;  which 
1  do,  as  I  know  he  will  take  good  care  of  it. 
AVhen  he  receives  it,  he  is  ready  to  embrace 
it.  '  What  a  ti-easure!'  he  says.  ^  Oh  mother, 
if  all  the  world  had  a  Bible,  there  would  be 
no  more  cruel  monks  and  priests.' — He  then 
sits  down  by  the  lattice,  and  gets  by  heart  a 


PIERRE  AND    HIS  FAMILY.  35 

great  many  verses.  He  is  far  before  his 
cousin  Albert,  though  lie  is  a  year  older  than 
Hubert.  I  dare  say  Hubert  can  now  repeat 
more  than  half  of  the  New  Testament  by 
heart,  and  a  ereat  many  parts  of  the  Old." 

The  pious  father  was  not  less  thankful  than 
delighted  to  hear  so  pleasing  an  account  of 
his  son,  who  was  certamly  an  uncommon  boy. 
Hubert  had  indeed  possessed  uncommon  ad- 
vantages; he  was  his  grandfather's  boy,  he 
had  been  constantly  with  him;  and,  when  he 
became  blind,  which  he  did  some  time  before 
his  death,  Hubert  used  to  read  to  him,  to  walk 
with  him,  and  converse  with  him  constantly. 
So  that  his  knowledge  was  not  only  superior 
to  liis  years,  but  far  above  that  of  his  station  in 
life;  for  the  old  pastoi-  liad  been  in  a  variety 
of  situations,  in  which  he  had  studied  botn 
men  and  manners,  in  his  youth;  for  he  was 
not  then  the  serious  man  which  he  afterwards 
became. 

"  Deirest  Hifbert!"  said  Pierre,  *'I  trust 
he  shu  one  day  be  pastor  of  the  valley,  and 
be  beK.  ,od  like  his  uncle,  and  honoured  to 
serve  God  in  his  day  and  generation,  as  so 
many  of  his  fathers  have  done. "  Then  after 
a  while  Pierre  added,  **Doe8  he  like  Latin 
still,  and  can  he  write  well?" 

'^The  pastor,"  said  Blanche,  ''continues 
to  teach  hnn  Latin,  and  he  writes  better  than 
the  young  Raymond,  who  often  sends  for  him 


56  PIERRE   AND   HIS  FAMILY. 

to  tne  castle,  and  is  very  kind  to  Hubert." 
*'  What !"  said  Pierre,  "  docs  he  write  better 
than  Riiymond,  who  will  one  day  be  a  pope  or 
cardinal,  perhaps?'' 

"The  more  the  pity,"  said  Blanche,  "tliat 
any  of  that  noble  house  should  be  so :  espe- 
cially young  Raymond,  tor  he  is  a  sweet 
youth;  and,  not  with  stand  inj;  Hubert  writes 
better  than  he,  yet  he  loves  his  learning;,  and 
is,  like  them  tliat  are  gone,  kind  to  the  pe(tj)h* 
of  the  valleys;  and  many  a  prayer  is  sent  uj> 
to  heaven  for  Godfrey  de  Raymond." 

While  Pierre  and  his  wife  were  thus  con- 
versing together — he  relating  to  her  all  that 
had  happened  to  him  since  he  left  her — and 
she,  as  1  have  shown  you,  telling  him  about 
liis  children,  and  his  relations, — they  weie 
interrupted  by  the  sweet  sound  of  a  pastoial 
pipe  in  the  village,  and  the  tinkling  of  bells, 
which  announced  the  return  of  the  flocks  from 
the  mountains. 

Pierre,  impatient  to  embrace  his  dear  boy 
and  girl,  whom  he  hatl  not  yet  seen,  ran  out 
to  meet  them ;  but  Blanciie,  wringing  her 
hands  and  lifting  up  her  meek  eyes  to  the 
heavens,  followed  hnn  at  a  distance,  trying 
to  attain  courage  to  impart  to  her  husband 
news  which  she  knew  would  overwhelm  him. 

At  the  little  gate  in  front  of  tiie  cottage, 
Pierre  saw  old  Benoit  the  mule,  on  which  was 
seated  his  lovely  Gabrielle,  with  her  laughing 


flERRE   AND   HIS    FAMILY.  37 

face,  and  sunny  hair  hanging  out  from  under 
her  broad -brimmed  hat.  When  she  saw  her 
father,  she  clasped  her  hands  with  delight; 
while  he,  running  forward,  lifted  Uer  oft'  the 
mule,  and  embracing  her,  said,  "Where  \^' 
your  brother?" — Then  looking  round  among 
the  boys  and  girls,  who,  at  that  hour  ol"  the 
evening,  came  down  into  the  village,  lie  could 
nowhere  see  Antoine.  "  Where  is  your  bro- 
ther?" he  again  demanded.  Gabrielle  reply- 
ing, "  Here  he  is," — pointed  to  Hubert,  who 
was  seating  little  Blanche  upon  the  back  of  an 
aged  goat,  the  'patriarch  of  the  flock,'  whose 
beautiful  beard  almost  swept  the  ground,  and 
who  was  carefully  steadying  his  splendid 
horns  lest  they  should  hurt  the  'baby  while 
playing. with  the  bell  that  tinkled  fiom  his 
neck. — "  Where  is  your  brother?"  "  Here  ho 
is,"  said  Gabrielle,  ''he  is  giving  baby 
Blanche  a  ritle  on  old  St.  Gothard." 

'•  No,  no  !  That  is  Hubert,"  said  the  father, 
now  becoming  suspicious  of  some  evil;  "tell 
me  at  once  where  is  my  poor  Antoine?" 

BlancJje,  no  longer  able  to  conceal  the  fate 
of  her  liusband's  favourite  child,  covered  lier 
eyes  with  her  hands,  and,  leading  Pierre  back 
into  the  cottage,  told  him,  in  short,  that — 
Antoine  was  in  heaven ! 

''Antoine  dead  I"  said  Beauvoisin,  with  a 
look  of  anguish  that   went  to  the   heart  of 
Blanche;'*  Antoine!  Antoinel — OhI  my  child!" 
D 


# 


38  PIERRE  AND   HIS   FAMILY, 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  Domestic  bliss,  that  like  a  harmless  dove 

♦'  Can  centre  in  a  little  quiet  nest, 

"  All  that  desire  would  fly  for  thro'  the  world." 

Notwithstanding  this  very  sweet  motto, 
my  children,  which  I  have  put  at  the  top  of 
my  chapter,  I  must  repeat  my  assertion,  that 
perfect  happiness  is  not  to  be  found  on  earth; 
or  if  ever  one  moment  of  un mingled  enjoyment 
be  possessed,  the  next  moment  takes  it  away. 
The  reality,  if  it  was  real,  is  passed  never  to 
return;  and  if  it  was  only  illusive,  it  is  dis- 
solved for  ever.  In  the  former  case,  indeed, 
the  memory  of  the  past  may  be  sweg,t, — but 
in  the  latter,  we  have  not  even  the  faint  moon- 
light kind  of  pleasuie,  which  reflection  some- 
times brings  along  with  it. 

It  might  have  been  thought,  that  the  return 
of  a  wanderer  to  his  home,  in  the  circum- 
stances I  have  related  above,  would  have  been 
to  all  parties  a  source  of  as  pure  enjoyment 
as  most  men  are  capable  of  tasting;  and  such 
as  few  ever  behold  within  their  reach.  Yet 
the  death  of  his  favourite  child  was  to  Pierre 
de  Beauvoisin,  with  all  his  piety,  a  cause  of 
unspeakable  grief;  and  he  could  by  no  effort, 
for  some  time,  regain  his  usual  composure  of 
mind,  and  calm  and  thankful  spirit.   Antoine, 


PIERRE   AXD    HIS    FAMILY.  89 

hitherto  his  youngest  child,  had  been  his  play- 
thing, his  pet,  as  he  called  him;  Hubert  was 
his  beloved  son  indeed — but  Hubert  was  too 
grave,  too  wise,  and  in  sliort  too  much  occu- 
pied with  all  those  studies  wiiich  his  father  so 
much  desired  he  should  cultivate,  and  too  old 
to  sport  and  romp  with  him  like  dear  little 
Antoine.  But  why  should  I  repeat  the  doat- 
ing  excuses  of  a  fond  father  for  loving  his  boy 
so  well.  Who  ever  lost  a  child  so  amiable, 
that  had  not  a  thousand  reasons  to  plead  for 
indulging  his  grief. 

When  Blanche  saw  the  despondency  of  her 
husband,  she  was  grieved  the  pastor  was  not 
at  home  to  console  him;  she  attempted  to  do 
it  herself,  but  she  was  a  miserable  comforter; 
her  own  sorrow  beino;.  thoug;h  not  so  fresh  nor 
so  recent,  yet  quite  as  poignant  and  as  deep 
as  that  of  Pierre.  When  Hubert  saw  his  fa- 
ther look  so  sad,  and  sit  with  his  head  leaning 
on  his  hand  and  quite  silent;  and  when  he 
saw  his  mother  grieved  because  she  could  not 
comfort  him,  he  would  go  to  the  place  where 
his  grandfather's  Bible  was  locked  up,  and, 
bringing  it  out,  he  would  read  to  his  father 
those  parts  of  the  Holy  Book  which  he  had 
often  heard  the  old  pastor  repeat  to  the  villa- 
gers, when  he  used  to  accompany  him  in  his 
visits  to  the  house  of  mourning.  By  these 
kind  and  gentle  means,  the  tender  father  felt 
his    mind  become  more  submissive  and    re- 


40  PIERRE   AXD    HIS   FAMILY. 

signed.  When  Tilanche  saw  that  tliis  method 
was  blessed  to  her  husband,  and  seemed  to  be 
bringing  about  some  measure  of  cheerfulness 
into  his  words  and  countenance,  she  would 
say  to  him:  '^  My  dear  Pierre,  if  I  had  fainted 
under  the  chastening  of  the  Lord,  with  my 
weak  faith  and  womanish  fears,  1  might  al- 
most have  been  pardoned — but  for  thee,  a 
Cliristian  soldier,  where  is  thy  courage  and 
thy  faith,  my  love?"  Thus,  half  chiding,  half 
reasoning,  Blanche  would  argue  him  out  of 
his  despondent  feelings;  and  would  call  upon 
him  rather  to  be  grateful  for  the  many  pre 
cious  blessings  which  yet  remained  to  them, 
than  to  tempt  the  Lord  to  lessen  them,  by  re- 
pining. Pierre's  delicate  health,  certainly, 
was  one  cause  of  his  apparent  want  of  resigna- 
tion under  the  loss  of  his  boy;  in  addition  to 
which,  the  recital  of  all  the  child's  passionate 
expressions  of  affection  for  his  absent  father, 
when  he  found  himself  dying,  touched  his 
heart;  and  it  was  rather  the  tenderness  of  the 
father,  than  the  faith  of  the  Christian  that  felt 
so  deeply  under  this  bereavement.  When 
Pierre,  however,  recovered  his  usual  sedate 
and  calm  temper  of  mind,  his  language  was 
that  of  gratitude  only — saying  he  was  thank- 
ful that,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  Gabrielle 
and  Hubert  stdl  remained  to  him  ;  ''and  if," 
said  he,  "  the  liord  hath  taken  away  my  dear, 
dear    Antoine,   he    has   spared   me   his    be- 


PIERRE    AND    HIS   FAMILY.  41 

loved  mother,  and  has  given  me  two  sweet 
Blanches,"  continued  he,  caressing  the  infant 
as  she  hung  about  his  neck — "  two,  instead 
of  one." 

Thus  this  pious  man,  though  not  insensible 
to  the  heavy  stroke  of  a  chastening  Father's 
hand,  felt  the  blow  severe,  and  almost  stag- 
gered under  it;  yet,  by  a  due  consideration 
of  his  own  demerit,  and  God's  abundant  and 
multiplied  mercies;  as  well  as  the  sinfulness 
and  danger  of  provoking  his  heavenly  Father 
to  punish  him,  by  taking  away  another  of  his 
little  ones,  he  humbled  himself  under  the 
mighty  hand  of  God,  and  resigned  himself  to 
the  painful  dispensation,  believing  it  to  be  or- 
dered by  infinite  wisdom,  and  therefore  better 
ordered  than  human  tenderness  possibly  could 
have  done,  either  for  the  happiness  of  the  pa- 
rent or  the  child.  Like  David  the  king,  on 
the  death  of  his  dear  baby,  Pierre,  when  speak- 
ing of  Antoine,  was  at  last  enabled,  with  sweet 
composure,  to  say,  "  I  shall  go  to  him,  but  he 
shall  not  return  to  me  !" 

Pascal  de  Beauvoisin,  the  brother  of  Pierre, 
had  been  called  by  the  brethren  and  elders  of 
the  congregation  of  the  valley  of  St.  Made- 
laine,  to  succeed  his  father  as  pastor  of  the 
same  beloved  flock.  Tlie  churches  of  the 
valleys,  with  little  interruption,  had  now  had 
rest  tor  many  years  from  the  cruelty  and  fury 
D  2 


42  PIERRE  AND   HIS    FAMILY. 

of  persecution,  and  they  were  flourishing  both 
in  number  and  in  respectability,  and,  above 
all,  in  spirituality  and  true  religion.  The  old 
pastor,  had,  so  to  speak,  closed  his  eyes,  many 
years  before  his  death,  upon  the  outward 
beauty  both  of  his  own  congregation,  and  the 
other  congregations  among  his  brethren — but 
to  his  mind's  eye  tliey  appeared  beautiful  as 
the  palm  tree — as  trees  of  righteousness,  the 
planting  of  the  Lord.  Many  a  root  he  had 
planted  in  his  own  day,  and  many  a  sapling 
he  had  trained.  To  many,  the  cause  which 
he  espoused  came  recommended  by  the  worth 
alone  of  its  advocate.  His  simple  manners, 
his  ardent  love  for  his  Saviour,  his  fervid  zeal 
and  active  labours  in  his  service,  secured  to 
him  the  devoted  regard  of  his  people;  while 
his  affection  for  them  was  evinced  by  his  un- 
wearied diligence  in  preaching  among  them 
Christ  Jesus  the  Lord,  and  salvation  tnrough 
him;  in  leading  his  humble  followers  to  the 
foot  of  the  cross;  in  faithfully  instructing  the 
young  of  his  flock;  in  being  the  guardian  of 
their  morals;  their  counsellor  in  time  of  need; 
and  their  friend  in  adversity.  And,  in  the 
hour  of  sickness  and  of  death,  he  was  ever  at 
hand  to  impart  to  the  afflicted  or  to  the  de- 
jected spirit,  the  consolations  of  the  Gospel, 
of  which  he  had  himself  so  often  felt  the 
power.  On  his  own  death-bed,  he  left  his 
people  a  testimony  of  the  faithfulness  of  the 


WERRE   AND   HIS    FAMILY.  43 

Master  whom  he  had  served,  saying,  like 
Moses,  ''Not  one  thing  hath  failed  of  all  the 
good  things  whicli  the  Lord  had  promised;  all 
hath  come  to  pass."  Tims  in  a  good  old  age, 
having  served  his  generation,  he  fell  asleep, 
and  was  gathered  to  his  fathers. 

Pascal,  who  had  been  the  pastor  of  a  dis- 
tant church  in  Calabria,  immediately  obeyed 
the  summons  of  the  flock,  who  called  him 
back  to  vSt.  Madelaine,  because  he  knew  that 
his  place  among  the  shepherds  of  the  Appen- 
nines  would  be  supplied  to  their  and  to  his 
own  satisfaction  ;  and  because  he  had  pro- 
mised to  his  aged  father,  long  before  his  death, 
that  his  people  should  be  dear  to  him;  and 
that  he  would  watch  for  their  souls  when  he 
was  gone  to  his  reward. 

Pierre,  on  account  of  his  brother's  distance 
from  his  native  place,  and  also  on  account  of 
the  war,  had  not  seen  Pascal  for  many  years. 
Their  meeting  was  tender  and  affectionate; 
and  many  an  early  recollection,  and  many  a 
remembered  enjoyment  of  youth  and  boyhood, 
with  the  cares  and  sorrows  of  later  years, 
formed  the  subject  of  their  interesting  conver- 
sations when  they  met.  When  Pierre  first 
saw  his  brother  officiate  in  the  church,  he  was 
struck  with  his  appearance.  His  figure  was 
tall  and  commandino;,  and  the  simple  costume 
of  a  pastor  of  the  valleys  both  gave  to  his  per- 
son and  received  from  it,  a  peculiar  dignity 


44  PIERRE  AXD    HIS    FAMILY. 

and  sanctity.  His  head  was  fine,  like  the 
head  of  his  father;  and  his  featurcs  strikingly 
beautiful.  His  hair,  divided  on  each  side, 
with  a  line  as  it  were,  drawn  through  the 
centre — his  black  crisped  locks,  with  a  few 
gray  hairs  that  had  come  before  their  time, 
covering  his  ears,  and  reaching  down  below 
the  collar  of  his  simple  habit;  gave  to  his  phy- 
siognomy, the  form  and  appearance  of  some 
of  those  interesting  portraitures,  which  exhibit 
the  countenance  of  the  Jew  in  all  its  beauty; 
or  that  of  the  first  Christians,  the  apostles,  or 
disciples  of  our  Lord.  Pascal's  eye  was'pier- 
cing;  and  his  voice — I  shall  not  attempt  to 
<lescribe  it,  except  by  saying  that  the  finest 
harp  touched  by  the  most  skilful  hand,  never 
exceeded  it  in  sweetness,  in  richness,  or  in 
pathos;  while  his  countenance,  not  less  rich 
in  expression  than  the  tones  of  his  voice,  re- 
sembled the  light  and  shadow  on  some  moun- 
tain's brow,  as  clouds  or  sunshine  prevail;  as 
it  varied  from  the  smile,  or  beam  of  light  that 
spoke  unutterable  things,  to  the  veneration 
that  laid  its  hand  upon  its  mouth,  and  its 
mouth  in  tlie  dust,  and  that  durst  not  open  its 
lips  unto  the  Most  High  God. 

Such  was  the  striking  appearance  which 
the  pastor  Pascal  presented  to  the  gratified 
eyes  of  his  affectionate  brother.  It  is  said, 
that  when  he  began  to  speak  of  the  Saviour, 
bis  countenance  sometimes  became  irradiated. 


PIERRE   AND   HIS   FAMILY.  45 

'^Jesus!  Jesus!"  he  would  saj;  then, as  if  he 
felt  the  present  God  too  powerfully,  the  smile 
of  rapture  passed  away — the  deepest  sense 
of  awe  covered  his  features: — he  would  utter 
a  few  words  in  prayer,  and  then  proceed. 

But  it  was  not  only  the  deep  seriousness — 
for  what  is  any  minister  of  God  who  wants 
seriousness  of  spirit — neither  was  it  the  in- 
tense earnestness  of  his  manner,  nor  the  pro- 
found feeling  visible  in  all  he  said,  tliat  af- 
fected the  simple,  and  humble,  and  devout 
auditors  of  the  pastor.  No.  His  doctrine  was 
sweeter  than  his  voice,  and  more  piercing  than 
his  eye ;  it  dropped  like  the  gentle  rain  from 
heaven,  and  distilled  as  the  dew ;  but  it  also 
pierced  to  the  "  dividing  asunder"  of  the 
motive  and  the  action — the  principle  and  the 
practice — the  spirit  and  the  form  of  devotion 
of  the  professors  of  the  church  of  the  valley. 
It  showed  the  desperate  peril  in  whicli  all  men 
are  placed  by  nature  and  transgression ;  and 
the  hopeless  and  cureless  misery  that  await  all 
who  utterly  reject  the  oifer  of  salvation.    The 

f)astor  also  endeavoured  to  convince  his  be- 
oved  hearers  of  the  worthlessness  and  use- 
lessness,  as  well  as  of  the  presumption  of  as- 
suming a  form  of  godliness,  while  denying 
the  power  thereof;  and  he  would  pray  that 
the  Holy  Spirit  would,  by  the  influence  of  his 
grace,  enable  them  all  to  evince  the  reality  of 
their  faith  by  the  purity  of  their  life,  and  that 


46  PIERRE    AND    HIS   FAMILY. 

they  might  be  examples  of  believers  in  worJ, 
in  conversation,  in  cliaritj,  in  spirit,  in  faith, 
in  purity. 

Even  little  children, — who  must,  I  am  sorry 
to  say,  generally  be  classed  among  those 
hearers  o?  the  word,  mentioned  in  the  Bible 
as  receiving  the  good  seed  on  the  way  side, 
"where  the  Ijirds  of  the  air  no  sooner  perceive 
it  to  be  scattered  than  they  descend  and  pick 
it  up; — even  little  children  have  listened  to 
their  revered  pastor  as  if  rivetted  by  the  sound 
of  his  voice,  and  penetrated  by  his  deep- 
searching  look,  anxious  to  understand  his  les- 
sons of  truth,  and  to  apply  their  young  hearts 
unto  wisdom.  When  they  heard  their  pastor 
describe  the  heart  as  deceitful  above  all  things 
and  desperately  wicked,  they  felt  that  what  he 
said  was  true,  and  they  confessed  to  God  that 
they  had  done  many  bad  things.  "Our 
liearts,"  said  they,  "  are  wicked  and  deceit- 
ful ;  may  the  Lord  give  us  new  hearts."  How 
different  is  this  language  and  this  prayer, 
from  the  conduct  of  those  foolish  children  and 
foolish  nurses,  who  say  that  you  have  good 
hearts;  or,  to  use  their  own  general  expres- 
sion, even  when  young  people  are  very  naugh- 
ty— "  0  !  it  is  wrong  to  be  sure,  to  be  so  bad 
or  so  ill-natured,  or  so  disobedient,  but  she 
lias  a  good  heart  for  all  that!"  What  pre- 
sumption to  say  that  is  good  which  God  hath 
declared  to  be  '*  desperately  wicked !" 


%» 


PIERRE   AND   HIS    FAMILY.  47 

But  to  continue  my  history:  The  children 
tit'  the  valley  of  St.  Madelaine  not  only  heard 
the  pastor  Pascal  declare,  as  witli  the  authority 
of  an  angel  from  heaven,  and  with  a  hjok  at 
once  of  pity,  of  tenderness,  and  of  firmness, 
as  if  constrained  by  some  necessity  so  to  do, 
tliat  "The  soul  tliat  sinnetli  it  shall  die!'- — 
but  they  felt  that  they  had  sinned,  and  they 
believed  that  they  must  die,  unless  the  Re- 
deemer of  men,  who  saveth  his  people  from 
their  sins,  should  have  compassion  on  them 
and  deliver  tiiem.  Therefore  they  prayed 
sometimes  in  this  manner:  "Lord,  we  are 
sinners,  pardon  us  for  the  Saviour's  sake; 
teach  us  to  believe  and  to  worship ;  teach  us 
to  keep  thy  commandments."  Again,  these 
young  people  not  only  heard  tlieir  minister 
denounce  the  wrath  of  God  as  due  to  every 
sin,  but  they  felt — and  trembled  while  they 
felt  it — that  it  was  due  to  them. 

But  if  this  good  pastor,  faithful  to  declare 
the  w^hole  counsel  of  God,  uttered,  with  an 
awful  seriousness,  and  with  the  profoundest 
sympathy  for  his  dear  fellow  sinners,  the  great 
and  fearful  <lenunciations  of  the  law  of  God, 
wai'ning  even  the  youngest  of  his  flock,  that— 
"  Jehovah,  out  of  Christ,  was  a  consuming 
fire  ;" — 0  I  w^ith  what  tenderness,  with  what 
sweetness,  did  he  represent  to  them  the  love 
of  God  in  Christ — the  love  of  the  Saviour — 
the  divine  Saviour!  and  of  the  ador:ible  Spirit 


^.H 


48  PIERRE    AND    HIS  FAMILY. 

— of  him  who,  when  on  earth,  held  (mt  his 
arms  to  receive  tlie  little  children,  saying, 
"Suffer  the  little  cliildren  to  come  unto  me, 
and  forbid  them  not,  for  of  such  is  the  king- 
dom of  Heaven."  Tiien  these  cliildren  of 
the  valley,  when  tliey  heard  that,  ])rayed — 
take  notice,  my  beloved  young  reader — they 
played  tliat  tiiey  might  be  taugiit  by  the  di- 
vine Spirit,  and  enabled  to  come,  in  the  way 
of  faith  and  holy  obedience,  to  this  adorable 
Saviour,  wlio  is  the  advocate  with  the  Father, 
and  who  alone  can  take  us  to  Heaven. 

But  why  sliould  I  repeat  any  more  of  this. 
It  was  the  same  with  them  at  all  times:  they 
tried  to  fasten  some  part  of  his  discourse  upon 
their  heart,  and  to  pray  about  it,  both  in  the 
church  and  when  tliey  went  home.  Once  the 
pastor  spoke  thus  to  them — "Say  not,  beloved 
iambs  ot  my  liock,  that  you  are  sorry  for  sin, 
as  long  as  you  continue  to  practice  it:  let  not 
any  of  you,  my  children,  who  willingly  diso- 
bey an  earthly  parent,  vainly  imagine  that  you 
are  beheld  with  love  by  a  Father  in  Heaven! 
— Let  not  any  one  who  disregards  and  trans- 
gresses the  commandments  of  God  willingly, 
or  habitually,  think  that  he  has  received  re- 
pentance unto  life!  Repentance,  my  dearly 
beloved,  is  the  gilt  of  God  :  pray  for  repent- 
ance. P2xcept  ye  repent,  ye  shall  all  perish! 
You  think  this  a  hard  sentence — hard,  per- 
haps, if  ye  were  not  fore^\•arned — 1  repeat  it, 


PIERRE   AND   HIS   FAMILY.  49 

except  ye  repent  ye  sliall  perish ! — Ah !  to 
perisn — to  die — to  be  destroyed — to  be  lost 
for  ever — to  die,  not  once,  but  eternally!  to 
be  in  a  state  of  perpetual  death,  yet  alive  to  all 
its  horror  1  Oh!  perish  not.  God  is  not  wil- 
ling that  any  should  perish,  but  that  all  should 
come  to  repentance.  O  my  beloved  little 
ones,  over  your  repentance — even  yours — let 
there  be  joy  in  Heaven." 

I  need  say  no  more,  I  hope,  to  convince  you 
that  a  pastor  who  thus  taught,  and  children 
who  thus  listened  and  prayed  over  what  they 
heard,  as  I  have  show^n  you  was  the  case  at 
St.  Madelaine,  both  received  a  blessing  from 
above  :  and  I  trust  what  I  have  here  related  to 
you  shall  not  be  in  vain — and  that  when  1  am 
gone  to  my  account  at  the  bar  of  my  Judge,  it 
shall  not  be  laid  to  my  charge,  that  I  willing- 
ly set  before  you  any  example  that  would  in- 
jure you  ;  or  that  I  ever  exhibited  to  you  any 
doctrine  or  precept  of  the  Bible,  that  was  not 
true  and  suited  to  make  you  better — or  that  I 
ever  began,  ccmtinued,  or  ended  any  such  la- 
bour, humble  and  simple  as  it  is,  without  pray- 
ing to  God  that  it  might  be  blessed  to  you : 
w  Inch  prayer  may  the  Lord  answer  to  many  a 
dear  child,  and  lead  them  to  imitate  the  pious 
behaviour  of  the  children  of  St.  Madelaine,  as 
I  have  described  them  above. 

Thus  blessed  and  made  a  blessing,  the  pas- 
tor Pascal  de  Beauvoisin  resided  amonii;  the 
E 


50  PIERRE  AND  HIS   FAMILY. 

people  of  tlie  valleys,  devoting  every  talent 
with  which  the  Master  had  intrusted  him,  to 
the  glory  of  the  Giver,  occupying,  and  there- 
by increasing  them  fivefold. 

The  return  of  his  dear  brother,  and  his  re- 
lease from  a  profession  which,  as  a  man  of  God 
and  a  man  of  peace,  the  pastor  could  not  love, 
artbrded  him  the  sincerest  pleasure;  while  the 
rapid  recovery  of  Pierre  from  liis  wound,  and 
from  the  depression  of  spirits  occasioned  by 
the  death  of  his  darling  boy,  was  a  theme  of 
grateful  praise  to  the  gracious  Source  from 
whence  cometh  down  every  temporal  as  well 
as  spiritual  benefit. 

The  pastor  delighted  to  train  up  Hubert  and 
Gabrielle  along  with  his  own  family;  and 
Louise,  his  wife,  loved  the  children  of  Pierre 
and  Blanche  as  if  they  were  her  own.  The 
pastor  taught  Hubert  and  his  own  boys  to  read 
Latin  and  Greek,  and  to  write  as  well  as  to 
read  in  their  own  language.  But  Gabrielle 
and  the  other  girls  were  only  taught  to  read 
in  their  native  tongue,  and  to  learn  great  part 
of  the  Bible  by  heart,  because  Bibles  were  so 
scarce  in  those  days  that  not  many  people 
could  procure  them, 

*But  1  must  not  deceive  you  with  regard 
to  these  children,  or  the  other  children  of  the 
valleys.     So  far  as  they  were  under  the  in- 

*  See  Note  III. 


PIERRE   AND   HIS   FAMILY.  51 

fluence-  of  religion  and  the  fear  of  God,  they 
were  good;  but  whenever  they  gave  way  to 
their  natural  tempers,  they  differed  not  from 
others;  but,  like  other  young  people,  were 
sometimes  peevish,  self-willed,  covetous,  jea- 
lous— covetous  of  each  other's  little  posses- 
sions— or,  accordino;  to  their  age,  of  each 
other's  little  playthings — and  jealous  or  envi- 
ous of  the  imagined  partiality  of  their  parents 
and  friends  to  one  above  another — if  any  ap- 
peared to  be  more  caressed  or  more  indulged 
than  another.  And  these  things  were  wrong; 
for  we  ought  to  rejoice  in  the  gifts,  graces, 
honours,  and  possessions  of  others ;  and,  if  so, 
how  unbecoming  to  be  covetous  or  envious  of 
so  much  meaner  things  r 

While  these  faults  attached  to  many  of  the 
children  of  the  village,  it  was  not  so  with  Hu- 
bert de  Beauvoisin  :  he  seemed  to  be  a  gra- 
cious boy  from  his  earliest  years;  and  when  he 
observed,  as  he  sometimes  did,  little  quarrels 
eitlier  among  his  cousins  or  the  other  children 
of  the  village,  he  would  pray  to  God  to  make 
them  better,  to  give  them  a  gentler  spirit,  and 
a  kinder  heart.  "Wise  Hubert,  as  they  some- 
times called  him,  made  this  remark,  that  in 
his  opinion,  there  ^\  ere  just  two  kinds  of  peo- 
ple:— One  sort  who  loved  one  another,  and 
were  kind  to  one  another,  and  to  every  body; 
and  the  other,  who  were  hateful,  and  hating 
one  another.     As  he  read  in  his  Bible,  that 


52  PIERRE   AND    HIS   FAMILY. 

"God  is  love,"  he  said,  he  was  sure  these 
were  God's  people  who  thus  tenderly  cared  for, 
spoke  of,  and  showed  kindness  to  each  other 
— it  was  impossible  not  to  love  these  people; 
but  the  other  class  had  all  their  pleasure  in 
finding  fault,  in  speaking  evil,  in  taking  up  an 
ill  report  of  a  neighbour,  or  repeating  a  re- 
proach against  liim — tliey  smiled  and  looked 
pleased  whenever  they  heard  any  thing  to  the 
disadvantage  of  another — but  if  any  thing 
were  said  in  praise  of  anotlier,  or  to  their 
honour,  then  they  were  dissatisfied,  and  they 
looked  hateful,  because  they  hated  others. 

This  dear  boy  also  observed,  that  young 
people  seldom  quarrelled  when  they  were  in 
the  presence  of  their  parents  and  elders,  but 
only  when  at  play  among  themselves.  Hubert 
thought  this  very  deceitful,  and  used  to  say  it 
was  neither  honest  nor  sincere  to  beliave  well 
only  before  their  superiors,  or  to  have  strifes 
when  out  of  sight.  He  used  to  tell  tliem,  that 
though  tlie  eye  of  their  father  or  mother  was 
not  on  them,  the  eye  of  God  saw  them,  and 
that  God  would  never  approve  of  the  conduct 
of  the  boy  who,  because  he  was  a  little  stronger 
than  his  fellow,  would  beat  him  or  oppress 
him.  God  is  the  friend  of  the  oppressed — he 
is  the  God  of  justice.  In  this  way  would 
Wise  Hubert  talk  to  the  boys,  if  he  saw  any 
of  them  striving  together,  which  was  but  a 
rare  thing  at  St.  Madelaine :  nevertheless,  it 


t 


PIERRE  AND   HIS    FAMILY.  5$ 

would  sometimes  happen,  for  where  is  the 
place  on  earth  where  the  children  are  all  good? 
Hence,  while  the  good  boys  loved  Hubert, 
and  used  to  call  him  the  peace-maker,  the  bad 
bojs,  by  waj  of  ridicule,  called  him  either 
Wise  Hubert,  or  Hubert  the  Pastor. 

I  have  thought  it  right  to  mention  these 
things  for  this  reason,  that  vou  may  not  ima- 
gine, because  the  inhabitants  of  the  valleys 
were  Waldenses,  or  protestants,  that  thev 
Avere  thereby  necessarily,  or  naturally,  all 
good  and  pious.  0  no :  so  far  as  the  grace  of 
God,  and  the  influence  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  are 
vouchsafed  to  any  man  or  child,  they  are  good 
— and  so  far  as  the  means  of  this  grace  are 
enjoyed,  either  by  old  or  young,  the  influences 
of  the  Divine  Spirit  may  be  expected  to  be 
communicated.  It  was  thus  in  the  village 
of  St.  Madelaine-de-Belleville. — The  people 
possessed  a  pious,  faithful,  devoted  pastor, 
truly  a  man  of  God.  In  the  doctrines  of  the 
Bible  they  were  instructed  from  their  youth— 
a  holy  example  was  set  before  the  young,  and 
the  prayers  of  their  parents  were  offered  up 
for  them  continually;  there  were  therefore 
few,  very  few  places  in  the  world  where  the 
children  were  so  good  upon  the  whole.  But, 
lest  you  should  suppose  an  impossible  thing, 
or  at  least  all  but  impossible,  and  think  that 
they  were  all  good,  or  always  good,  I  have 
tuought  it  right  to  show  you  that  this  was  not 
E  2 


«^ 


54  PIERRE  AND   HIS   FAMILY. 

the  case;  but  that,  in  general,  they  were  re- 
markable for  brotherly  love  and  kindness  to 
an  uncommon  degree. 

But  you  will,  perhaps,  like  to  know  how 
these  young  people  employed  themselves  be- 
sides learning  to  read,  and  write,  and  under- 
stand Latin,  and  so  on.  I  will  tell  you  :  be- 
sides learning  reading  and  writing,  the  girls 
were  taught  to  knit  and  to  sew,  to  plait  bon- 
nets of  straw,  and  the  boys  to  make  osier 
baskets  in  the  winter  nights,  or  to  help  the 
girls  to  wind  the  silks  for  the  tisserands,  who 
wrought  them  into  rich  webs  and  tissues  in 
the  loom.  The  inhabitants  of  the  valleys 
were  not  more  remarkable  for  their  piety, 
brotherly  love,  and  kindness,  and  charity, 
than  for  their  industry;  and  whether  they 
laboured  in  the  fields  or  at  the  loom,  or  whe- 
tlier  they  were  mechanics  or  artisans,  each 
diligently  attended  to  his  own  business.  As 
for  the  families  of  the  pastor  Pascal  and  ln» 
brother,  they  were  occupied  with  herds  and 
flocks.  Gabrielle  and  Hubert  used  to  go  to 
the  sides  of  the  mountains  with  the  goats  and 
pretty  kids,  early  in  the  morning,  sometimes 
accompanied  by  their  father,  sometimes  with 
their  cousins,  especially  Albert  and  Margue- 
rite. As  they  sat  watching  their  flocks  upon 
the  mountain  side,  undisturbed  by  any  sound 
except  the  gurgling  torrent  that  wound  its 
way  through  the  recesses  of  the  deep  ravin© 


PIERRE  AND    HIS   FAMILY.  55 

below,  or  overlooked  only  by  the  sununersky, 
or  the  solitary  iuinate  ot"  some  cowherd's 
cabin,  perched  like  an  eagle  on% rock  above  ; 
with  the  beautiful  plains  of  Piedmont  spread 
out  at  their  feet,  watered  by  many  a  windin;^ 
stream  and  river, — beyond  them  in  the  dis- 
tance, the  risin;^  Appennines. — behind  them 
the  majestic  Alps,  whose  giant  heads,  lost  in 
the  clouds,  seemed  to  connect  the  scene 
with  another  world,  even  while  they  shut  out 
all  the  world  beside; — while  thus  seated, 
tending  their  flocks  at  feed,  these  dear  chil- 
dren would  repeat  to  each  other  the  portions 
of  scripture  which  they  had  learnt  by  heart; 
or  they  would  sing  together  the  beautiful 
hymns  and  psalms  taught  in  tlie  villages, 
making  melody  in  their  young  hearts  unto 
the  Lord,  while  the  echoes  of  the  mountains 
rang  to  the  sweet  sound  of  their  enchanting 
voices — 1  say  enchanting;  because  thus  to 
hear  children  praise  the  Lord  betimes,  is 
surely  the  sweetest  of  all  earthly  things,  if  it 
be  not  a  heavenly  thing. 

These  young  people,  habituated  to  hear  of 
persecution  among  their  own  people,  and 
taught  to  expect  it,  perhaps,  in  their  own  per- 
sons, were  familiar  with  the  tale  of  martyr- 
dom, and  their  minds  were  early  disciplined 
to  suffer  or  to  die  in  the  cause  of  Christ,  if 
he  should  account  theii\/vorthy.  They  were, 
tlierefore,  well  acquainted  widi   the  hymns, 


56  PIERRE  AND   HIS   FAMILY. 

or  rather  triumphant  lyrics  of  the  living  for 
the  dead,  who  had  died  so  gloriously.  These 
formed  the  subject  of  many  of  the  songs  of 
the  valleys;  and  many  a  time,  when  Hubert 
and  Gabrielle,  and  the  Pastor's  children, 
used  to  be  sitting  as  I  have  described,  watch- 
ing their  goats,  tliey  would  sing  these  wild 
and  beautiful  pieces. — One  would  begin  in  a 
sort  of  low  recitative,  saying, 

"  Sing  to  the  Lord :" 

Another  would  follow,  raismg  the  voice  a  little 
higher,  and  then  all  would  join  in  together, 
and,  with  the  embryo  spirits  of  martyrs,  swell 
the  beautiful  strain : — 

"  Sing  to  the  Lord  !  let  harp,  and  lute,  and  voice 
Up  to  the  expanding  gales  of  heaven  rejoice. 

While  the  bright  martyrs  to  their  rest  are  borne; 
Sing  to  the  Lord  I  their  blood-stain'd  course  is  run. 
And  every  head  its  diadem  lialh  won, 
Rich  as  the  purple  of  the  summer  morn  : 
Sing  the  triumphant  champions  of  their  God, 
While  burn  their  mounting  feet  along  their  sky-ward  road. 

Sing  to  the  Lord :  it  is  not  shed  in  vain. 

The  blood  of  martyrs  !  from  its  freshening  rain 

High  springs  the  church,  like  some  fount-shadowing  palm; 
The  nations  crowd  beneath  its  branching  shade. 
Of  its  green  leaves  are  kingly  diadems  made, 
And,  wrapt  within  its  deep-embosoming  calm. 
Earth  sinks  to  slumber  like  the  breezeless  deep. 
And  war's  tempestuous  vultures  fold  their  wings  and  eleep. 

Sing  to  the  Lord  !  no  more  the  dead  are  laid 
In  cold  despair  beneath  the  cypress  shade. 

To  sleep  the  eternal  sleep  that  knows  no  morn : 
There,  eager  still  to  bursfi^S^tirs  brazen  bands. 
The  angel  of  the  rcsunei  tion  stands : 

While,  on  its  own  immortal  pinions  borne 


PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  57 


Following  the  breaker  of  the  imprisoning  tomb, 

Forth  springs  the  exulting  soul,  and  shakes  away  its  gloom 

Sing  to  the  Lord  !  the  desert  rocks  break  out. 
And  the  ihrong'd  cities  in  one  gladdening  shout ; 

Tlie  farthest'shores  by  pilgrim  step  explored  ; 
Spread  all  your  wiii^s,  ye  winds,  and  waft  around. 
Even  to  the  starry  cope's  pale  waning  hound. 

Earth's  universal  homage  to  the  Lord. 
Sing  to  the  Lord  I  when  time  itself  shall  cease. 
And  final  ruins,  <lesoIating  peace. 

Enwrap  this  wide  and  restless  world  of  man  ; 
When  the  judge  rides  upon  the  enthroning  wind. 
And  o'er  all  generations  of  mankind 

Eternal  vengeance  waves  its  winnowing  fan  ; 
To  vast  infinity's  remotest  space, 
Wliile  ages  run  their  everlasting  race, 
Shall  all  the  beatific  hosts  prolnng, 
Wide  as  the  glory  of  the  Lamb— the  Lamb's  trmmphaut  song." 

1  wish  you  could  have  heard  these  children, 
as  their  young  voices  swelled  to  the  words 
''  vSing  to  the  Lord !" — Truly  the  desert  rocks 
broke  out,  and  an  angel  might  have  paused 
upon  tlie  wing  to  hear  so  sweet  a  song. 

AVhile  pastoral  occupations,  such  as  I  have 
described,  engaged  Pierre  and  his  family  in 
the  summer,  and  led  tliem  to  be  much  upon 
the  mountains,  Pierre,  and  Hubert,  and  Albert 
sometimes  going  so  far  out  of  sight  as  to  be 
absent  for  many  days  at  a  time;  tlie  girls  took 
charge  of  the  goats  and  cows  nearer  home ; 
driving  them  out  in  the  morning,  and  bringing 
them  back  at  mid -day  and  in  the  evening,  to 
be  milked  by  Blanche  and  Louise,  who  made 
their  butter  and  cheese  with  their  own  hands, 
and  sent  it  to  market  on  old  Benoit  the  mule; 
Gabrielle  sometimes  seated  between  the  pan- 


SB  PIERRE  AND   HIS   FAMILY. 

niers  when  the  weather  was  so  hot  that  she 
could  not  walk ;  Val,  the  old  cowherd,  trotting 
by  her  side.  In  the  winter  time  the  flocks 
were  fed  in  the  valley,  and  in  the  lower  pas- 
ture grounds,  by  which  means  Pierre  and  his 
family  were  always  at  home  at  night.  In  the 
autumn,  Gabrielle  and  Hubert  assisted  at  the 
vintage,  sometimes  in  gathering  the  grapes, 
separating  them  from  the  leaves  and  stalks ; 
putting  them  into  baskets,  or  conveying  them 


to  the  press,  where  they  were  made  into  wine, 
tlie  rest  of  their  people,  the  family  of 
Pierre,  and  their  cousins,  were  early  taught  to 


seta  very  hi^h  value  on  habits  of  industry  and 
activity:  indeed,  the  Pastor  Pascal  used  to 
speak  of  industry,  as  some  people  would  speak 
of  genius;  he  called  it  a  talent — the  excellent 
talent;  and  we  do  not  speak  of  it  too  highly, 
when  we  consider  it,  either  in  its  application 
to  manual  or  to  mental  labour,  as  a  talent  of 
most  eminent  excellence,  inasmuch  as  nothing 
excellent  ever  was  attained  without  it.  The 
children  of  Pierre,  therefore,  were  always 
employed,  busily  occupied,  never  idle;  tor 
they  knew  in  the  valleys,  as  well  as  we  do  in 
the  city, — 

"  That  Satan  finds  some  mischief  still, 
"  For  idle  hands  to  do." 

You  would  have  admired  Gabrielle,  had  you 
seen  her  sometimes,  while  intrusted  with  the 


PIERRE  AND    HIS  FAMILY.  59 

care  of  the  little  Blanche,  carrying  a  basket- 
load  of  grapes  upon  her  beautiful  head,  the 
tendrils  twining  themselves  by  "heedless 
hap"  among  the  lovely  ringlets  of  her  hair — 
while,  holding  Blanche  in  one  hand,  she,  with 
the  other,  supported  her  delicious  burden,  the 
little  child  calling  out  for  a  cluster  to  eat,  or 
else  looking  up  in  her  sister's  face  and  say- 
ing, as  well  as  she  could,  "Bon-bon!  Ga- 
brielle !" 

In  the  proper  season,  also,  Gabrielle  would 
be  as  busy  among  the  mulberry  trees,  as  she 
was  at  other  times  among  the  vine-branches, 
or  the  grapes.  She  would  watch  to  see  when 
the  mulberry  trees  at  the  end  of  the  lake  be- 
i^an  to  put  forth  their  tender  buds,  when  the 
little  silk-worms  burst  from  their  shells;  and, 
after  a  few  months,  she  would  go  again  to  look 
for  the  small  cones,  or  bundles  of  silk,  which 
appear  like  spots  of  gold  on  every  leaf.  Ga- 
brielle used  often  to  say,  it  was  cruel  to  de- 
stroy the  poor  aurelia  for  the  sake  of  its  little 
ball  of  silk ;  and  when  she  and  Marguerite 
were  busy  dipping  the  cones  into  water,  for 
the  purpose  of  disengaging  the  end  of  the 
tiii-eads  that  the  tiny  spinners  had  made  with 
so  much  neatness,  they  would  say  to  each 
other : — It  is  a  poor  thing  foi-  man  to  rob  a 
worm — to  rob  our  sister  and  mother — Job 
calls  the  worm  his  ''  sister  and  mother;"  and 
IS  It  not  strange,  Gabrielle  would  add,  that, 


60  PIERRE  AND   HIS   FAMILY. 

without  his  little  spoil,  princes  and  kings 
would  want  those  grand  robes  of  which  we 
have  heard,  and  ladies  their  silken  dresses. 
Thus  would  these  girls  talk  to  each  other, 
while  winding  otf  eight  or  ten  of  those  deli- 
cately-fme  cobweb  threads  of  gold,  from  the 
balls  of  the  silk-worm;  whicii,  when  twined 
into  one  tiiread,  after  all,  looked  no  larger 
than  a  line  of  light,  on  which  a  gossamer 
might  hardly  balance  itself. 

It  was  in  the  routine  of  a  lite  of  virtuous 
industry  and  pious  contemplation,  as  the 
several  duties  and  ages  of  Pierre  and  Blanche, 
and  their  amiable  family,  called  them  to 
scenes  of  business  in  the  village  or  the  cottage; 
or  to  hours  of  uninterrupted  solitude  in  the 
mountains,  amid  the  bleating  of  the  flock  and 
lowing  of  the  kine,  that  one  season  after  ano- 
ther stole  away,  almost  unperceived,  in  the 
village  of  St.  Madelaine ;  so  fraught  was  each 
with  that  portion  of  domestic  happiness,  which 
health,  and  industry,  and  piety,  generally,  by 
God-s  blessing,  bring  along  with  them.  No 
incident,  either  particularly  pleasing  or  dis- 
tressing, had  occurred  to  vary  tiie  cjuiet  train 
of  circumstances  which  I  have  described,  till 
about  the  end  of  this  year,  when  it  pleased  its 
Heavenly  Father  to  take  home  the  beloved 
little  Blanche,  who  died  of  a  iever  then  pre- 
valent anumg  the  children  of  the  valley;  and 
shortly  after  her  death,  there  happened  the 


PIERRE   AND    HIS   FAMILY.  61 

welcome  birth  of  another  little  baby  in  her 
stead,  who  comforted  the  afflicted  parents 
under  the  loss  of  their  departed  darling.  Tlieir 
distress  on  her  account  was  indeed  great;  jet, 
according  to  the  views  of  Waldenses,  their 
child  had  died  so  young  as  to  be  incapable  of 
actual  sin,  and  had  not  transgressed  after  the 
similitude  of  Adam's  transgression.  Their 
grief  for  her  was,  therefore,  softened  into  a 
pensive  regret  on  their  own  account;  but,  in 
respect  of  Blanche,  they  were  able  to  think 
of  her,  with  a  sweet  joy,  as  now  in  Heaven, 
mingling  with  thousands  of  little  children, — 
perhaps  with  some  of  the  infant  martyrs  of 
past  ages  from  the  valleys, 

"•  Slain  by  the  bloody  Piedmontese,  that  roirJ 
•'  Mother  with  intkiit  down  the  rocks — their  moans 
"  The  vales  redoubled  to  the  hills,  and  they 
•'  To  heaven  !" 

or  with  those  young  children  that  were  slain 
in  Bethlehem  and  in  the  coasts  thereof,  at  that 
nuie  when  their  Lord  himself  was,  for  their 
:ike,  a  little  infant  like  them. 

With  reflections  such  as  these,  Pieire  and 
his  family  tried  to  conifort  themselves;  and 
:i«,  in  the  valleys,  times  of  persecution  often 
S'ucceeded  each  other,— Blanche  said  to  Pierre, 
•'  Who  knows,  my  dear,  but  our  sweet  baby 
is  taken  away  from  the  evil  to  come.""  And, 
in  this  respect,  the  words  of  Blanche  were 
F 


6^  PIERRE  AND   HIS   FAMILY. 

truly  ominous  of  evil.  But  T  shall  reserve 
what  I  have  to  say  on  this  affecting  subject, 
till  I  begin  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  Children,  intelligent, 
*'  Above  their  years,  mark  all  their  father  says, 
**  Look  in  his  face,  and  cry  '  Shan't  we  die  too  ?' — 
**  The  father,  in  the  slumbers  of  the  night, 
"  Sees  a  bright  angel  wave  him  to  the  death, 
*'  And  cries,  '  1  come.'" 

In  the  chapter  introductory  to  this  history, 
I  told  you,  as  you  may  recollect,  that  the 
peaceable  and  pious  inhabitants  of  the  valleys 
were  sometimes  under  the  hard  necessity  of 
changing  their  retreat,  and  that,  when  driven 
from  the  shelter  of  one  lovely  valley,  they  fled 
to  the  sequestered  bosom  of  another. 

I  am  now  about  to  inform  you,  on  what 
account  these  amiable  and  inoffensive  people 
were  thus  cruelly  expelled  from  their  quiet 
homes,  bereaved  of  all  their  comforts,  and 
exposed  alike  to  the  pitiless  storms  of  perse- 
cution and  to  the  inclemency  of  ihe  elements. 
The  reason  was  their  religion.  The  inhabi- 
tants of  the  valleys  professed  the  religion  of 
the  Bible,  in  opposition  to  the  superstition  of 


I 


PIERRE  AND    HIS    FAMILY. 


63 


the  pope  and  monks;  or,  as  it  is  called,  the 
Roman  Catholic  relidon. 

I  shall  not  go  back  to  trace  the  history  of 
the  first  rise  of  the  faith  and  profession  of  the 
churches  of  the  valleys, — suffice  it  to  say,  that 
their  religion  was  as  old  as  the  world.  They 
believed  in  the  same  Saviour  who  was  pro- 
mised to  our  apostate  father  in  the  garden  of 
P^den,  and  the  same  Gospel  which  was  preach- 
ed to  Abraham  in 'Haran  and  on  Mount  Mo- 
riah,  was  the  object  of  their  faith,  and  of  their 
hope;  while  the  '*love  of  the  truth,  and  of 
each  other,  for  the  truth's  sake,"  was  the 
sweet  and  sacred  bond  of  their  union. 

The  object  of  the  catholic  in  persecuting 
his  believing, — or  as  he  accounted  him — his 
unbelieving,  and  heretical  brother,  was  pro- 
bably twofold — To  make  him  a  proselyte  to 
his  own  opinions,  and  to  quench  the  light  of 
truth.  The  Bible  tells  us  why  men  like  dark- 
ness: it  also  tells  us  why  they  hate  the  light. 
"But  God  forbid  that  I  should  judge  my  bro- 
ther.— I  do  not  relate  this  history  to  condemn 
the  catholic,  but  to  exhibit  the  2;entle  virtues 
of  the  Waldenses;  and  thouo;h  1  mio;ht  have 
recounted  actions  more  atrocious,  and  de- 
scribed scenes  more  cruel  than  I  am  about  to 
set  before  you — and  though  I  mi<^ht  have  re- 
verted to  the  day,  when  children,  in  the  words 
of  our  motto,  taught  to  suffer  and  strong  to 
endure,   early  anticipated   the   glory   of  the 


64'  riERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

martyr,  saying,  "Shan't  we  die  too?'- — or  to 
the  tinve  when  parents  saw,  in  reality  by  day, 
and  in  vision  by  night,  tlie  instruments  of 
cruelty,  and  the  power  to  use  them,  in  the 
hands  of  an  infuriated  enemy,  who,  ingenious 
in  ferociousness,  and  meditative  of  vengeance, 
slept  not  till  he  had  imagined  some  new  form 
of  torture,  varying  his  engines  of  anguish  from 
the  gibbet  to  the  rack,  and  from  the  bleeding 
rack  to  the  consuming  faggot; — All  this  I 
might  have  described,  but,  waving  such  a 
power,  and  foregoing  the  opportunity  of  ex- 
citing, in  favour  of  my  story,  an  interest  the 
most  intense,  I  prefer  simply  stating  to  you, 
first  the  most  unexceptionable  and  dignified 
reasons,  on  the  part  of  the  churches  of  the 
valleys,  for  dissenting  from  that  of  Rome; 
and,  having  done  so,  will  show  you  how,  in 
the  case  of  their  refusal  to  renounce  princi- 
ples so  high  and  holy,  Pierre  and  his  family 
suffered  from  their  wrath — I  say  Pierre  and 
his  family;  for,  out  of  the  multitude  who  were 
exposed  to  exile  and  deatli  on  this  occasion, 
I  take  but  a  '  single  captive.' 

The  reasons,  then,  which  the  inhabitants  of 
the  valleys  assigned  for  their  dissent  from  the 
church  of  Rome,  or  rather  for  their  refusal  to 
become  members  of  its  communion,  were  the 
following,  among  many  others. 

The  Waldenses  said,  that  the  religion  of 
the  pope  and  the  monks  was  not  the  religion 


I 


PIERRE   AND   HIS   FAMILY.  65 

of  the  Bible.  Thej  affirmed  that  the  catholic 
robbed  the  Saviour  of  his  merits,  ascribing 
salvation  to  the  intercession  of  saints,  the  fire 
of  purgatory,  their  own  works,  or  a  form  of 
words  ;  that  they  held  baptism  to  be  the  same 
as  regeneration — thus  ascribing^  to  a  rite  or 
symbol,  the  virtue  of  the  thing  signified,  de- 
nying the  work  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  by  wiiom 
alone  we  are  born  again — that  they  placed  the 
whole  of  religion  and  of  holiness,  in  going  to 
mass,  or  in  certain  multiplied  and  unmeaning 
ceremonies— that  they  permitted  open  sins, 
every  sin  being  to  be  bought  off,  and  pardon- 
ed ;  the  pope's  penitentiary  having  published 
the  price  of  every  crime,  as  it  was  rated  in  the 
tax-book  of  the  Roman  chancery;* — that  they 
boasted  of  working  miracles,  even  as  the  Bi- 
ble prophesied  they  should,  sa^nng,  of  the  man 
of  sin,  "  Whose  coming  is  after  the  working 
of  Satan,  with  all  miracles,  and  signs,  and  ly- 
ing wonders,  and  with  all  deceivableness  of 
unrighteousness;" — by  their  prayers,  fasting, 
almscleeds  and  watchings,  they  assumed  that 
form  of  godliness,  or  outward  show  of  holi- 
ness, of  which  the  apostle  testified  lon^  be- 
fore, saying  of  these,  •*  Having  a  form  of  god- 
liness, but  denying  the  power  thereof:  iiom 
such  turn  away." 

The   Christians   of   the    valleys   abhorred 

*  Jones,  p.  461. 


66  PIERRE   AND    HIS  FAMILY. 

alike  the  doctrines  and  the  practice  of  such  a 
church,  though,  for  the  souls  of  those  who  were 
joined  to  it,  they  felt  deep  compassion  and  the 
sincerest  pity.  The  Waldenses  had  come 
out  from  among  them  centuries  before,  and 
still  held  themselves  a  separate  people ;  many 
of  their  fathers  had  sealed  their  testimony  to 
the  truth  of  the  doctrines  of  their  own  com- 
munity witli  their  blood;  and  their  descend- 
ants were  ready  to  do  the  same  again,  rathei 
than  connect  themselves  with  those  who  held 
principles  so  false,  and  were  in  conduct  so 
foul ;  offering  divine  worship  not  to  the  Crea- 
tor, but  to  the  creature;  for  unto  the  crea- 
tures, that  is,  the  saints,  they  present  "  the 
worship  of  faith,  hope,  works,  prayers,  pil- 
grimages and  alms;  oblations  and  sacrifices 
of  great  price;  honouring  and  adorning  them 
in  various  ways,  by  hymns  and  songs,  speeches 
and  solemnities — celebration  of  masses,  ves- 
pers, vigils,  and  feast-days,  hoping  thereby  to 
obtain  that  grace  which  is  in  God  alone,  and 
which  is  obtained  by  faith  in  Christ  through 
the  Holy  Ghost." 

While  the  Christians  of  the  valleys  thus 
announced  the  obnoxious  principles  and  doc- 
trines of  the  papacy,  to  be  things  that  they 
abhorred,  and  from  communion  with  which, 
either  in  thought  or  profession,  they  shrunk  as 
from  a  pestilence;  they  also  openly,  and  most 
unreluctantly,  avowed  their  own  sentiments, 


PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  67 

and  pointed  to  the  records  of  God  for  the 
proof  of  every  doctrine  they  advanced.  It  is 
not  in  such  a  little  book  as  this  that  I  can  say 
much  upon  subjects  so  solemn.  It  behoves 
every  one.  however,  who  knows  the  value  of 
the  true  religion,  to  maintain,  in  all  their  pu- 
rity, those  articles  of  faitli,  to  honour  which, 
the  martyrs  and  confessors  of  those  early  days 
counted  not  their  own  lives  dear  unto  them. 
And  who  among  us  would  not  wish  to  have 
with  them  *' one  Lord,  one  faith,  one  baptism, 
one  God  and  Father  of  all  .^" 

In  reference  to  the  idolatry  of  the  pope  and 
the  monks  who  prayed  to  the  saints  and  be- 
sought them  to  intercede  for  their  salvation, 
the  Christians  of  the  valleys  declared,  that  in 
Jesus  alone  they  had  hope.  "Christ  alone," 
said  they,  "  has  the  prerogative  of  interceding 
for  his  guilty  people.  He  is  the  only  and  sole 
Mediator  between  God  and  man, — the  Advo- 
cate and  Intercessoi'  with  the  Father  for  sin- 
ners. No  man  cometh  to  the  Father  but  by 
him." 

They  believed  also  in  three  adorable  Per- 
sons in  the  Godhead,  as  **  the  Creator  of  all 
and  Father  of  all,'"  who  is  to  be  worshipped 
in  spirit  and  in  truth,  *•  on  whom,"  said  they, 
''we  depend,  to  whom  we  ascribe  praise  for 
our  life,  health,  sickness,  prosperity,  and  ad- 
versity ;" — praising  him,  you  see,  not  less  for 
sickness  and  adversity,  than  for  health  and 


68  PIERRE  AND   HIS    FAMILY^ 

prosperity.  <'  We  also  love  him,"  they  added, 
"  as  the  source  of  all  goodness;  and  reverence 
him  as  that  sublime  Being  who  searcheth  the 
reins  and  trieth  the  hearts  of  the  children  of 
men."  The  Christians  of  the  valleys  taught 
their  children  that  docttine  which  we  also 
learn  from  our  Bible  and  catechism,  that  Jesus 
Christ  is  the  son  of  the  Father;  that  in  him 
dwelleth  all  the  fulness  of  the  Godhead;  and 
that  by  him  alone  we  know  the  Father— there 
being  no  other  name  given  under  Heaven 
whereby  we  can  be  saved.  In  like  manner, 
these  happy  people  avowed  to  the  catholic, 
just  what  they  taught  to  their  children,  that 
they  believed  in  the  Holy  Spirit,  as  the  Com- 
forter, by  "whose  inspiration,"  they  said, 
"  they  were  taught  to  pray,  being  by  him  re- 
newed in  the  spirit  of  tfieir  minds,  created 
anew  to  good  works,  from  whence  they  re- 
ceived the  knowledge  of  the  truth." 

Now  it  was  for  such  a  faith  as  this,  and  for 
a  practice  of  corresponding  purity,  humility, 
and  holiness,  that  the  inhabitants  of  the  val- 
leys of  Piedmont  and  Dauphiny  had  been, 
from  age  to  age,  and  generation  after  genera- 
tion, at  greater  or  shorter  intervals,  persecuted 
by  the  pope  and  his  priests,  subjected  to  every 
calumny  that  hatred,  and  malice,  and  false- 
hood could  invent,  and  made  odious  in  the 
sight  of  a  too  credulous  world. 

Unhappily  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  valleys, 


PIERRE   AND    HIS   FAMILY.  69 

their  local  situation  had  also  subjected  them, 
in  the  succession  of  wars  and  treaties,  to  a 
very  frequent  change  of  masters;  for  some- 
times they  were  the  subjects  of  France,  some- 
times of  Sardinia;  at  other  times  they  be- 
longed to  the  Dukes  of  Savoy;  and  many  of 
their  brethren  inhabited  the  marquisate  of  Sa- 
luces.  They  experienced  much  rigour  at  dif- 
ferent times  from  the  parliaments  of  Dau- 
phiny  and  Aix;  and,  except  Francis  the  First, 
who,^  with  the  caprice  common  to  cruelty,  at 
one  time  rebuked  his  parliaments  for  the  se- 
verity of  their  measures  against  them,  and  at 
another  time  commanded  them  to  be  destroyed 
— except,  in  this  instance,  few  of  the  kings  of 
France  showed  them  any  favour.  The  Dukes 
of  Savoy,  however,  seem  generally  to  have 
treated  them  with  a  considerable  degree  ot 
kindness.  Hearing  of  the  simplicity  of  their 
manners,  their  integrity,  and  tlieir  cheerful 
obedience  to  their  governors  in  all  matters  but 
those  whicli  concerned  their  religion,  the 
house  of  Savoy,  for  tlie  long  period  of  three 
hundred  years,  seemed,  by  the  kind  provi- 
dence of  God,  to  have  loved  and  protected 
the  Waldenses. 

This,  however,  was  not  the  case  latterly; 
and,  at  the  time  of  which  1  speak,  the  Wal- 
denses were  indebted  solely  to  the  influence 
of  the  good  duchess  of  Savoy  for  that  protec- 
tion which  her  husband  often  aftorded  them. 


70  PIERRE  AND   HIS   FAMILY. 

This  pious  and  virtuous  princess  was  the  sanc- 
tuary and  place  of  refuge  to  the  inliabitants  of 
the  valleys,  whenever  they  were  tlireatened 
with  a  storm  of  wrath  from  the  duke  or  his 
counsellors;  and,  so  long  as  she  lived,  her 
benevolent  intercession  was  never  wanting 
for  the  good  of  her  husband's  protestant  sub- 
jects, who,  by  her  influence,  had  preserved  to 
them  the  continuance  of  their  privileges ;  and 
she  often  had  averted  from  them  not  only  the 
indignation  of  his  Highness,  but  the  wrath  of 
the  whole  Catholic  party.  Surely  we  ought 
to  give  thanks  to  God  on  account  of  this 
pious  princess,  who,  in  the  language  of  the 
Holy  Book,  was  thus  a  nursing  mother  to  the 
church;  for  it  is  written,  "  Kings  shall  be  thy 
nursing  fathers,  and  their  queens  thy  nursing 
mothers."  And  oh !  may  those  who  possess 
similar,  or  even  very  inferior  influence  in  the 
world,  remember  what  a  precious  talent  and 
gift  of  God  it  is,  and  seriously  consider  its 
immense  worth,  that  they  may  use  it  in  such 
a  way  as  shall  redound  to  the  glory  of  the 
Giver,  and  to  the  benefit  of  the  church  of 
God. 

But  the  good  duchess,  who  had  interfered 
so  often  and  so  successfully  for  the  benefit  of 
the  amiable  and  pious  Waldenses,  both  when 
her  husband,  instigated  by  the  priests,  at  one 
time  designed  not  only  to  persecute,  but  to 
exterminate   his   peaceful    subjects;   and,  at 


PIERRE    AND    HIS   FAMILY.  71 

another  time,  when  he  harassed  them  by  in- 
riirsions  from  his  troops,  and  when  drawn 
into  a  league  against  his  people,  he  gave  indi- 
ratioii  by  innumerable  petty  vexaticms,  of  the 
[gathering  of  another  storm: — this  good  lady, 
1  say,  who  had  interfeivd.  at  each  repeated 
attempt,  to  ward  off  the  blow  from  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  valleys,  at  last  died,  and  hei-  re- 
mains were  no  sooner  consigned  to  the  se- 
pulchre of  her  fathers,  than  the  popish  party 
'•came  forth,  like  licms  out  of  their  dens," 
ravening  for  tl)eir  prey,  and  desiring,  by  ail 
means  the  destruction  and  extermination  of 
the  peaceable  Christians  of  the  valleys. 

But  the  Lord's  hand  is  not  shortened  by 
the  death  or  absence  of  any  creature-instru- 
ment whom  he  may  hitherto  have  honoured  to 
act  as  a  peace-maker.  No:  the  Lord  raised 
up  otiier  friends  to  protect  his  beloved  people. 
— Like  Israel  of  old.  he  preserved  them  day 
and  night,  reproved  kings  foi- their  sakes,  and 
suffered  no  one  to  do  them  iiarm :  and,solon^ 
as  the  husband  of  the  good  duchess  continued 
on  the  throne,  he  treated  his  pious  subjects 
with  much  gentleness  and  kindness;  while 
they,  on  their  part,  religiously  obeyed  all  the 
commands  of  his  Highness,  as  far  as  con- 
science would  permit.  And  it  appears  that 
their  sovereign,  though  a  Catholic  prince,  at 
last  respected  these  humble  and  virtuous 
people,  both  on  account  of  tlieir  fidelity  to 


72  PIERRE   AND   HIS   FAMILY. 

himself  and  their  faithfulness  and  piety  to 
God. 

But  not  to  detain  your  attention  too  long  on 
this  part  of  my  subject,  I  shall  hasten  to  in- 
form you,  that  this  generous  prince  died  also, 
and  was  succeeded  by  a  person  of  a  very  dif- 
ferent character,  whose  accession  to  tlie  tfirone 
was  marked  by  a  line  of  policy  totally  dis- 
similar to  tliat  of  the  late  sovereign.  It  was 
on  this  occasion,  also,  that  the  valley  of  St. 
Madelaine-de-Belleville,  on  account  of  some 
trifling  territorial  arrangement,  passed  into  the 
immediate  jurisdiction  of  Savoy. 

The  old  pastor,  Beauvoisin,  had  seen  hi3 
sun  go  down  amid  the  peace  and  calm  of  the 
churches  of  the  valleys,  as  they  walked  with 
each  other  in  the  comfoi-t  of  the  Spirit  and  the 
fellowship  of  love.  But  it  is  with  churches  as 
with  families  and  individuals :  whom  the  Lord 
loveth  he  chasteneth;  and  they  have  their 
days  of  darkness  and  persecution — days  in 
which  they  are  thrown  like  gold  into  the  fur- 
nace, the  Lord  sitting  by  as  a  refiner,  not 
suftering  one  grain  of  pure  ore  to  be  lost,  but 
only  ''purging  away  the  dross,  and  taking 
away  the  tin." 

The  family  of  Pierre  was  just  in  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which  I  have  described  them 
to  you  in  our  preceding  chapter;  experiencing 
all  the  comfort  and  sweetness  o\  a  happy 
home^  which  the  poet  compares  to  the  ring- 


PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  73 

clove's  nest,  as  containing  all  the  bliss  that 
unsatisfied  and  idle  wishes  would  flj  for 
through  the  world  in  vain.  They  were  just 
in  this  happy  state,  when  late  in  the  evening 
(*f  a  quiet  Sabbath  day,  a  certain  order  came 
down  from  the  governor  of  his  Highness  the 
.luke,  commanding  all  the  inhabitants  of  the 
alleys,  who  professed  the  faith  of  the  Wal- 
denses,  to  withdraw  and  depart  out  of  all  the 
towns  antl  villages  of  the  valleys,  in  three 
days,  '•  under  pain  of  death  and  confiscation 
of  houses  and  goods ;  provided,  always,  they 
did  not  make  it  appear  to  the  governor,  with- 
in twenty  days  following,  that  they  were  be- 
come Catholics."  And  the  order  further 
stated,  that,  even  in  the  places  to  which  they 
were  to  proceed,  the  mass  was  to  be  cele- 
brated ;  and  that  whoever  prevented  or  dis- 
suaded any  of  their  relations  from  becoming 
Catholics,  should  suffer  the  penalty  of  death. 
This  order  came  into  the  valleys  in  the 
month  of  February,  a  season  of  the  year  when 
it  is  quite  impossible  to  travel  in  the  moun- 
tains of  that  country.  It  came  on  the  even- 
ing of  a  day  which  Pierre  and  Blanche  with 
their  little  fiimily  had  observed  as  a  day  of 
special  thanksgiving  to  God  for  his  recent 
nuMcies  to  them.  The  occasion  had  formed 
a  soit  of  religious  festival  in  the  cottage  of 
thi^-se  humble  peasants,  and  they  were  about 
to  retire  for  the  night,  under  a  o-rateful 
G 


74  PIERRE  AND   HIS    FAMILY. 

sense  of  the  mercies  of  the  day,  when  the  fami- 
ly were  disturbed  and  alarmed,  by  a  sudden 
call  for  Pierre  to  attend  a  private  consultation 
of  the  utmost  importance,  convoked  by  the 
authorities  of  the  villages  in  the  valley,  who 
had  arrived  in  haste  at  St.  Madelaine,  as  the 
melancholy  news  of  the  edict  had  passed  from 
hamlet  to  hamlet,  bringing  terror  and  despair 
along  with  it. 

In  this  council,  which  lasted  till  midnight, 
it  was  resolved  that  the  inhabitants  of  the  val- 
leys should  endeavour,  first,  by  means  of  a 
petition,  and  failing  of  success,  then  next  by 
remonstrance,  to  avert  or  mitigate  the  cruel 
order  of  the  governor.  For  this  purpose  an 
immediate  appeal  was  made  to  his  excellency, 
to  wave  the  hard  conditions  of  his  edict — to 
consider  the  peaceableness  of  the  Christians 
of  the  valleys — their  obedience  to  his  excel- 
lency— their  quietness  under  his  sway — and 
the  kindness  by  which  they  had  hitherto  been 
treated  by  the  house  of  the  prince.  But  the 
inhuman  governor,  deaf  alike  to  petition  or  to 
remonstrance,  rejected  all  their  supplications 
— refused  to  convey  them  to  the  ear  of  the  duke 
— and,  in  short,  he  presented  to  the  afflicted 
and  agitated  husbands  and  fathers  of  the  poor 
Waldenses,  no  alternative  but  the  mass! 

The  inhabitants  of  the  valleys  could  con- 
sent to  perish  amid  ice  and  snow,  or  to  be  in 
hunger,  and  nakedness,  and  peril  in  the  moun 


i 


PIERRE   AND    HI3    FAMILY.  75 

tains;  but  to  forsake  the  gospel  of  their  Re- 
deemer— the  faith  of  their  fathers — the  holj 
religion  of  their  predecessors  up  to  the  re- 
motest time — the  religion  of  martyrs  and  con- 
fessors, apostles  and  prophets — 0!  that  were 
to  abjure  their  God  himself! 

Unhesitatingly,  tlierefore,  they  went  forth 
f?om  their  cottages  and  homes,  their  fields  and 
vineyards,  not  knowing  whither  they  went. 
Wives  and  children,  helpless  infants  and  aged 
parents — the  halt,  the  lame,  and  the  blind — 
the  delicate  female,  and  the  new-born  babe — 
all  abandoned  their  houses  in  the  depth  of 
winter,  to  traverse  mountains  almost  impass- 
able, amid  rain,  and  ice,  and  snow. 

These  were  but  the  beginning  of  sorrows — 
for  hardly  had  the  women  and  children  quitted 
their  peaceful  and  cherished  homes,  when  a 
licensed  banditti  broke  into  the  villages;  and, 
— after  a  day  or  two  of  pretended  zeal  to  con- 
vert the  Waldenses  to  the  faith  of  the  pontiff, 
on  the  part  of  the  monks;  and  stubborn  re- 
sistance to  all  papistical  persuasion,  on  the 
part  of  the  Waldenses, — the  soldiers,  together 
with  the  catholic  population  of  the  valleys, 
robbed,  burned,  and  razed  to  the  foundation 
the  beautiful  cottages  of  the  persecuted — 
slew,  with  ferocious  cruelty,  the  fathers  and 
young  men,  who,  remaining  behind,  endea- 
voured, for  the  sake  of  their  families,  to  pro- 
tect tiieir  property;   and,  wlien   the    torture 


T6  PIERRE  AND   HIS    FAMILY. 

and  the  stake  were  not  tlie  weapons  of  their 
warfare,  they,  in  (»ne  undistinguished  mas- 
sacre, poured  <ieatii  on  every  side,  turnin2;  the 
fruitful  field  into  a  desert;  and  (lie  vilhi«!;es 
of  the  valleys,  whicli,  before,  had  been  sprea<l 
out  like  the  •"tents  and  tabernacles  of  Israel, 
and  which  were  beautiful  as  gardens  by  the 
river  side,"  soon  became  one  shapeless  and 
monotonous  scene  of  melancholy  ruin. 

To  all  this  accumulated  njisery  the  pious 
inhabitants  submitted,  rather  than  deny  the 
truth  of  the  Bible,  or  renounce  the  faith  of 
their  fathers.  The  governor  had  commanded 
them  to  send  away  their  pastors  on  pain  of 
death,  and  to  receive,  in  their  stead,  priests 
belonging  to  the  catliolic  communion,  to  con- 
duct their  worship,  and  to  sing  masses  in  their 
churches.  But  the  pastors  chose  to  perish 
with  their  flocks  ;  and,  as  to  commanding  the 
people  to  believe  in  the  sacrifice  of  the  altar, 
they  plainly  told  the  priests  that  the  body  of 
Christ  was  in  Heaven,  and  that  the  mass  was 
equally  idolatrous  and  absurd.  They  had  not 
so  been  taught,  neither  had  they  so  learned 
Christ,  as  to  shrink  from  suft'ering  for  his  sake. 
He  who  loved  them  to  the  death — who,  for 
their  sake,  gave  his  back  to  the  smiters,  and 
his  sacred  cheek  to  them  that  plucked  oft*  the 
hair, — was  by  them  worshipped  and  adored 
with  a  love  and  truth  that  smiled  at  martyr- 
dom, and  with  a  devotion  that  sought  to  seal 


PIERRE   AXD    HIS    FAMILY.  77 

its  testimony  in  fire.  But  vrhile,  as  Chris- 
^ans,  these  interesting  people  chose  death  ra- 
ther than  life,  if  to  be  purchased  at  the  price 
of  acknowledging  doctrines  which  they  ab- 
horred, or  professing  belief  in  tenets  which 
robbed  their  Master  of  his  glory — yet,  as  men, 
they  were  susceptible  of  the  tenderest  sympa- 
thies of  humanity;  and,  glowing  with  kmd 
affections,  they  defended  their  homes  and 
their  hearths,  with  the  boldness  of  fathers  act- 
ing for  their  beloved  and  persecuted  children; 
and  withstood  the  ravenings  of  the  wolf,  even 
as  the  parent  ewe  protects  her  bleating  lamb. 
While  suffering  and  death,  even  to  extermi- 
nation, became  the  final  lot  of  those  who  re- 
mained in  the  villages,  a  show  of  justice,  in 
some  instances,  accompanied,  and  thereby 
aggravated,  the  outrages  which  they  endured 
at  once  from  the  armies  of  their  own  prince 
and  from  the  priests  of  that  apostate  church, 
which  had  armed  itself  with  a  power  no  church 
on  earth  was  ever  authorised  to  wield.  But, 
while  havock  and  slaughter  reigned  in  the 
valleys,  and  biffotry  and  superstition  glutted 
themselves  witli  blood — the  sufferings  sus- 
tained in  the  mountains,  amid  the  snows  and 
winds  of  the  Alps,  were  hardly  less  deep  and 
hardly  less  sacred;  for  the  same  spirit  that 
gloried  in  the  cross,  and  faced  persecution  in 
the  valley,  glowed  in  the  bosom  of  those  who 
met  it  in  the  natural  storm  and  tempest. — 


>>? 


78  PIERRE  AND   HIS    FAMILY. 

Yes;  every  way  it  was  death — if  not  to  all — . 
to  many.  With  the  exiles,  the  first  few  days 
were  nearly  spent  in  prayer:  they  lingered 
on  the  heights,  from  whence  they  still  beheld 
their  villages ;  and  loud  was  the  cry  that  went 
up  from  the  mountain's  side,  as  the  banished 
inhabitants,  the  mothers  and  their  children, 
the  aged  and  the  sick,  saw  the  smoke  of  their 
beloved  homes  rising  in  fearful  columns  into 
the  air  by  day,  or  lighting  all  the  sky  with 
their  blazing  fires  by  night:  loud  was  the  cry 
that  went  up  to  heaven  from  the  mountain's 
side,  not  for  vengeance,  indeed,  but  for  mercy; 
for  it  was  no  part  of  the  creed,  or  of  the  spirit 
of  the  gentle  Waldense,  to  seek  the  destruc- 
tion of  his  enemy.  '*  How  long,  O  Lord! 
holy  and  true,  dost  thou  not  pity  and  spare 
thy  afiiicted  people — and  bring  to  repentance 
the  enemies  of  thy  Christ?"  Again  their 
prayer  rose  for  the  husband,  and  for  the  fa- 
ther, and  for  the  brave  youths,  who,  standing 
by  their  sires,  emulated  the  deeds,  and  pur- 
chased the  honours  of  their  ancestors,  not  only 
saying,  "Shan't we  die  too?" — but  remaining 
unshaken  under  the  torture,  and  triumphant 
at  the  stake!  For  these,  and  such  as  these, 
went  up  the  prayer  of  their  afflicted  relations, 
as  from  the  towering  distance,  they  looked 
down  on  the  smoking  vales  beneath  them — 
while  even  little  children,  unconscious  that 
they  did  so,  or  ignorant   of   its  meaning — 


PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  79 

clasped  their  dimpled  hands,  and,  with  a  holy 
look,  pleaded  for  their  fathers. 

At  other  times  the  unhappy  fudtives  en- 
deavoured to  cheer  each  other  with  the  hope 
of  future  glory,  and  of  those  blessings  of  the 
Gospel  for  which  they  suffered.  Looking  be- 
\otid  the  veil  of  life  and  time,  the  soul  went 
forward  to  eternity;  and,  in  moments  such  as 
these,  the  scattered  bands  would,  with  one 
simultaneous  burst  of  hallowed  son^,  break 
on  the  silence  of  the  night  or  dawmng  day, 
till  all  the  echoes  of  the  mountains  rang. 

'^  What  means  yon  blaze  on  high  r"  was  a 
question  which  the  dreadful  scene  frequently 
led  them  to  utter — and,  being  associated  in 
their  memory  with  words  dear  and  familiar 
to  the  pious  exiles,  it  led  them  to  sin^  that 
strain  of  rapt  and  fervid  poetry  which,  in  the 
language  of  the  valleys,  was  called  the  Mar- 
tyr's Song. 

But,  to  narrate,  a  little  more  particularly, 
the  distressing  details  of  this  day  of  trouble, 
I  shall  return  to  the  history  of  Pierre  and  his 
family. 

When  the  day  arrived  on  which  it  had  been 
fixed,  by  the  simple  authorities  of  these  hum- 
ble people,  that  their  wives  and  children,  aged 
and  sick,  should  depart,  and  attempt  by  cross- 
ing the  mountains,  to  avail  themselves  of  that 
asylum  which  the  hospitality  of  the  wSwiss  and 
of  the  Waldenses  on  the   other  side  of  the 


k 


80  PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

Alps,  had  offered  them ;  Blanche,  with  Hubert 
and  Gabrielle,  and  her  infant,  accompanied  bj 
the  family  of  the  Pastor  Pascal,  and  others  of 
the  village  of  St.  Madelaine,  set  out  on  their 
melancholy  journey. 

The  old  mule  was  loaded  with  as  many 
necessaries  as  it  was  possible  could  be  carriea 
from  the  cottage;  not  for  the  purpose  of  pre- 
serving from  destruction  even  what  they  might 
account  valuable, — for  that  was  not  to  be 
thought  of  in  circumstances  so  afflicting, — 
but  entirely  with  the  view  of  supporting  the 
dear  children  and  their  mother,  in  the  fearful 
passage  of  the  mountains.  A  sumpter  mule 
was  loaded  with  cloaks  and  blankets,  and 
many  other  articles  needful  for  such  a  journey, 
lest  the  women  and  children  exposed  to  the 
night  air,  should  have  to  encamp  in  the  snow, 
or  come  to  situations  in  which  no  shelter  could 
be  found.  Every  thing  that  a  careful  and 
tender  husband  and  father  could  think  of  to 
alleviate  the  distress  or  mitigate  the  dreaded 
evils  of  such  a  heart-rending  emigration, 
Pierre  failed  not  to  collect  together.  His 
family  were  among  the  last  that  left  the  vil- 
lage: he  accompanied  them  about  a  league 
from  the  end  of  the  valley,  endeavouring  to 
strengthen  their  minds  and  encourage  their 
hearts; — to  set  before  them  tiie  promises  of 
the  Gospel ;  to  bid  them  be  strong  in  the  faith, 
and  trust  firmly  in  the  Lord,  saying,  "No 


.■ii^KMf] 


t 


PIERRE   AND   HIS   FAMILY.  81 

one  ever  trusted  in  him  and  was  forsaken." 
When  about  to  part,  he  renewed  all  his  direc- 
tions with  regard  to  the  journey — repeated 
his  injunctions  that  they  should  take  care  of" 
each  other  by  the  way.  Once  and  again  he 
left  them  before  he  could  remember  all  that 
}ie  should  enjoin  them — repeating,  a  hundred 
limes,  that  he  hoped  to  meet  them  at  La 
Flechere;  and  returning  once  more,  and  for 
the  last  time,  while  Blanche  nobly  strove, 
with  heroic  firmness,  to  maintain  the  calm- 
ness necessary  to  conceal  alike  her  fears  and 
her  tears,  Pierre  took  the  infant  in  his  arms — 
looked  on  it  with  expressions  of  exquisite  and 
agonizing  tenderness  :  The  rest  of  his  family, 
he  thought,  might  survive  to  meet  his  sight 
again — but  the  baby  never !  He  restored  the 
child  to  the  arms  of  its  mother — reminded 
her,  with  almost  cruel  anxiety,  of  the  necessity 
of  keeping  up  a  proper  degree  of  warmth 
about  him;  and  then,  afraid  that  Blanche 
would  care  so  much  for  Henri  as  to  leave 
caring  for  herself,  he  charged  Hubert  with  the 
burden  of  the  child,  and  not  to  let  his  mother 
walk  too  long  at  a  time,  but  to  seat  heron  the 
mule.  "At  every  prospect  of  danger,  Hubert, 
and  in  every  step  of  difficulty,  O!  do  not  for- 
get," said  he,  "  that  there  is  One  nearer  than 
thy  father  to  give  help  to  thee;  and  let  th^ 
cry  be  unto  him.  And  now,"  added  Pierre, 
"now,   my  beloved  Blanche^   farewell!    We 


82  PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

shall  meet  again ;  and  the  churches  of  the  val- 
leys shall  yet  flourish.  The  Lord  will  not 
cast  off  for  ever ;  though  he  cause  grief,  jet 
will  he  have  compassion  according  to  the  mul- 
titude of  his  mercies,  and  according  to  the 
tenderness  of  his  loving-kindnesses,  wliich  are 
for  ever  of  old. — Farewell !" 

"•  Farewell !'-  said  Blanche,  raisino;  her  eyes 
to  heaven,  and  taking  thence,  as  it  were,  a 
blessing  by  violence — *' Farewell,  Pierre  I  If 
thou  shouldst  win  the  martyr's  crown,  we 
meet  not  here,  but  yonder,"  said  the  pious 
Waldense,  with  hand  upraised  to  heaven— 
"We  shall  meet  again  in  heaven  or  earth- 
farewell  till  then."  Then,  after  a  moment's 
weeping  on  the  part  of  the  children  and  their 
father,  though  not  a  visible  tear  was  shed  by 
this  heroic  wife  and  mother,  she  added: 
"Pierre,  I  have  asked  but  one  thing  for  thee 
— the  Lord  be  with  thee,  and  thou  for  him — 
Farewell! — thou  must  be  gone — farewell! — 
O  be  steadfast !" — "As  the  mountain  rock;" 
said  Pierre — "Farewell! — Hubert,  care  for 
thy  mother,  boy — The  Blessed  blegs  you!" 

As  Pierre  uttered  these  words,  he  disen- 
gaged himself  from  Gabrielle,  who  had  twined 
her  arms  round  her  father's  neck  and  would 
not  let  him  go.  And  herein,  it  may  be  said, 
consisted  the  true  martyrdom  of  these  affec- 
tionate people.  The  wheel  and  the  stake 
were  gentle  in  their  torture  in  comparison  of 


PIERRE   AND    HIS  FAMILY.  83 

the  passionate  endearments  of  beloved  chil- 
dren, and  the  snapping  asunder  of  those 
tender  chords  on  which  hang  all  the  harmo- 
nies of  life. 

Pierre  ventured   not  to  look  behind   him, 
b'.t,  descending  the  mountain  side,  returned 
to  St.  Madelaine.     As  he  drew  near  the  vil- 
lage, he  was  struck  with  the  mournful  silence 
that  reigned  throughout  its  once  cheerful  pre- 
cincts.    The  noise  of  the  shuttle  had  ceased; 
and  the   noise  of  the  hammer  on  the  anvil, 
though  still  heard  at  the  forge  across  the  lake, 
i^ave  onlv  a  sort  of  presao;ino-  note  of  fear,  as 
those,  wno  determined  to  resist  tiie  oppressor, 
whetted  their  rusty  weapons  by  the  light  of 
the  flaring  furnace,  or  others  shod  their  horses, 
unpatient  to  depart.     There  alone  the  village 
1  appeared  to  be  mhabited ;   and  Pierre  passed 
round  to  his  own  cottage,  without  meeting  any 
uiie  to  speak  to,  from  whom  he  could  leani 
j  the  state  of  the  valley.    There  was  something 
!  ill  this  loneliness  and  desolation  that  exceed- 
ingly attected   him;  and  in  coming  into  his 
I  u  ti  deserted  paradise,  from  whence  those  that 
•  ade  it  so  were  fled,  he  felt  his  heart  flutter 
iid  liis  lip  quiver;   and  when,  on  going  fur- 
ther into  the  room,  he  perceived  the  litter  of 
t raw  and  osiers  with  which  the  children  had 
been  busy  making  bonnets  and  baskets  a  short 
time  before,  a  tear  sprung;  to  his  eye,  and  his 
tuititude  almost  forsook  him. 


84  PIERRE   AND   HIS   FAMILY. 

While  Pierre,  with  many  a  sad  tliought,  wad 
arranging  his  little  affairs,  and  securing  the 
few  valuables  wliich  he  possessed,  the  solitude 
that,  a  short  time  before,  had  reigned  in  the 
village,  even  to  paiufulness,  was  interrupted 
by  the  most  discordant  sounds;  and  laughter, 
and  execrations,  and  the  trampling  of  horses, 
too  plainly  announced  the  entrance  of  the 
troops,  wlio  were  commissioned,  together  with 
the  fathers  of  the  Holy  Office,  and  the  monks, 
to  enforce  the  edict  of  the  governor,  and  con- 
vert men  to  the  catholic  faith  by  dint  of  the 
sabre. 

The  peaceful  and  pious  Waldenses,  who 
remained  in  the  valleys  to  protect  their  pro- 
perty from  pillage,  and  to  bear  their  testimony 
to  the  truth,  received  the  troops  with  a  temper 
that  might  have  won  their  esteem,  and  pacified 
their  anger.  They  provided  quarters  for  the 
squadron  of  Savoy; — they  were  the  subjects 
of  their  own  prince,  and  they  met  them  in 
peace.  They  hoped  by  such  means,  to  subdue 
irritation — to  avert  oppression — and  they  ex- 
pected that  the  soldiers,  when  they  found 
themselves  not  only  unprovoked  but  treated 
with  kindness,  would  forbear  their  outrages; 
and  that,  having  gained  the  military,  the  pas- 
tors would,  by  argument  and  Scripture,  en- 
deavour to  convince  the  priests.  Their  for- 
bearance, however,  was  in  the  one  case  in  vain; 
and,  in  the  other,  argument  and   Scripture, 


PIERRE    AND    HIS   FAMILY.  ^^ 


instead  of  subduing  the  sanguinary  purposes 
ot"  the  priests,  only  increased  their  thirst  for 
the  blood  of  the  heretics,  as  they  denominated 
the  Lord's  dear  people ;  and  the  wisdom, 
grace,  power,  and  eloquence  with  which,  not 
only  tlie  pastors,  but  many  of  the  simplest  of 
their  ilock,  overturned  the  wretciied  sophis- 
tries of  the  monks,  chafed  them  more  and 
more,  and  infuriated  them  beyond  endurance. 
The  undaunted  courage,  the  inflexible  inte- 
grity with  which  even  the  poorest  of  the  people 
withstood  every  attempt  to  seduce  them  from 
the  faith,  exasperated  their  enemies,  incapable 
of  estimating  such  superior  excellence;  and 
wlien  they  found  it  equally  impossible  to  cor- 
rupt or  intimidate  these  pious  people,  the 
monks  and  friars  adjourned  the  conference 
with  the  pastors  and  elders  till  another  day. 

Such  was  the  resistance  which  the  pious  in- 
habitants hitherto  had  made  to  their  enemies — 
a  simple  adherence  to  the  truth  of  the  Bible. 
This  two-edged  sword  was  tlie  only  weapon 
of  their  warfare.  It  was,  however,  a  weapon 
with  whicii  their  enemies  could  not  cope.  So 
tliey  liad  recourse  to  another,  or  rather  to  many 
otiiers;  and  every  species  of  cruelty  was  em- 
ployed to  destroy  the  bodies  of  these  men, 
whose  spirits  were  found  to  be  unconquerable. 

It  was  finally  resolved,  in  the  mock  consis- 
tory of  tiie  priests,  to  endeavour,  once  more, 
to  bring  over  the  heretics  by  argument:  and 


m 


86  PIERRE  AND   HIS  FAMILY. 

to  all  those  who  should,  next  dav,  assist  at  the 
celebration  of  the  mass,  pardon  would  be 
granted  for  the  rebellion  of  which  they  had 
been  guilty;  and  that  they  sliouUl  not  be  de- 
nounced to  the  governor,  nor  have  their  pro- 
perty confiscated,  but  would  be  received  into 
her  bosom  of  holy  mother  church. 

I  need  not  say  that  few  were  found  to  ac- 
cept the  compromise.  One  or  two  apostates, 
alas!  there  were,  who  shrunk  through  terror, 
but  who,  some  years  afterwards,  made  their 
most  humiliating  recantation  to  the  churches 
of  the  valleys,  and  were  again  received  into 
their  communion.  Among  those  who  this  day 
witnessed  a  good  confession  was  Pierre  de 
Beauvoisin.  Amid  cruel  mockings  and  re- 
vilings  he  stood  unmoved.  ''  Steadfast"  was 
the  purpose  of  his  soul,  and  steadfast  was  llie 
current  of  his  thoughts,  and  steadfast  was  the 
tenor  of  his  conduct.  He  came  ott*  exone- 
rated from  the  charge  of  rebellion;  and  of 
heresy  it  was  impossible  to  convict  him,  with- 
out convicting  the  prophets  and  apostles  of 
the  Bible  of  the  same.  All  this,  however, 
would  have  availed  him  nothing,  had  he  not 
been  protected  by  the  noble  house  of  Ray- 
mond, who,  though  catholics  tliemselves,  saw, 
and  knew,  and  loved  the  worth  and  truth,  and 
integrity  of  their  humble  peasantry  in  the  val- 
leys, and  therefore  withstood  the  arrogant  and 
ferocious  spirit  which   disgraced    their   own 


PIERRE  AND    HIS    FAMILY.  87 

priesthood  and  dishonoured  their  own  reli- 
gion, and,  with  a  hi^h  hanrl  and  a  loud  voice, 
thev  had  signified  their  determination  to  pro- 
tect the  person  of  Beauvoisin. 

From  the  fiery  trial,  therefi»re,  Pierre  was 
happily  exempted  ;  and,  as  a  spirit  of  concilia- 
tion seemed — but,  better  to  secure  the  execu- 
tion of  their  purposes,  only  seemed — to  have 
succeeded  to  the  anger  and  cruelty  hitherto 
manifested  by  the  monks,  the  little  synod  of 
fathers,  who  yet  remained  in  the  valley,  di- 
rected Pierre  to  profit  by  this  pause  from  per- 
secution, and  endeavour  to  proceed  forthwith 
to  the  mountains,  to  succour  the  women  and 
little  ones,  who,  by  the  most  distressing  ac- 
counts that  day  received,  appeared  to  be  dy- 
ing in  hundreds  by  reason  of  the  cold. 

Pierre,  after  this  day  of  rebuke  and  blas- 
phemy, retired  late  at  night,  grateful  to  his 
God  for  granting  to  him  the  honour  to  be 
counted  worthy  to  suffer  shame  for  his  sake, 
and  to  challenge  the  wheel  or  tlie  stake  rather 
that  deny  one  sacred  truth  of  all  his  Holy 
Word.  Cheered  with  thoughts  so  sw  eet,  and 
animated  with  the  hope  of  rejoining  his  be- 
loved family, — though  long  past  the  hoped-for 
time  of  meeting, — Pierre  retired  to  his  cot- 
tage, packed  up  a  few  articles  in  his  knapsack 
i'lr  his  children  and  suffering  compatriots  in 
le  mountains,  and  having  got  all  ready 
gainst  the  dawn,  he  took  from  its  chamois 


88  PIERRE  AND   HIS    FAMILY. 

cover  the  piecious  Bible  of  his  revered  father, 
now  in  glor^,  and,  trimming  liis  little  lamp, 
which  contained  but  a  scanty  supply  of  oil, 
he  prepared  to  engage  in  reading  the  Scrip- 
tures and  prayer,  till  the  return  of  the  morn- 
ing light  should  enable  him  to  commence  his 
journey. 

As  Pierre,  seated  on  a  chair  by  the  dying 
embers  of  the  cottage  fire,  his  knapsack  lying 
beside  liim  all  ready  for  his  march,  drew  out 
his  hoarded  treasure,  the  pastor's  Bible,  from 
its  cover, — remembering  well  the  day,  and 
the  chase  which  the  poor  chamois  from  whom 
it  had  been  taken,  had  led  him  in  his  youth — 
he  thought  with  much  tenderness  of  his  aged 
father,  whose  last  best  legacy  that  book  had 
been.  As  he  sat  with  it  in  his  hand,  he  re- 
membered also  how  often  he  had  opened  its 
sacred  pages  in  the  bosom  of  his  family,  and 
he  looked  around  his  deserted  cottage,  in 
which  nothing  that  had  life  or  movement  was 
to  be  seen,  except  his  flickering  shadow  on  the 
roof,  thrown  there  by  the  low  quivering  light 
of  his  little  lamp.  All  was  silent,  motionless, 
and  solitary :  his  heart  was  touched  with  grief 
— the  tears  rushed  to  his  eyes — and  the 
thought  of  Blanche  and  her  babe — of  Hubert 
and  Gabrielle,  perishing  perhaps  in  the  snow 
— wrung  his  soul  with  an  anguish  which  no 
human  fortitude  could  sustain.  He  threw 
himself  upon  the  floor  in  an  agony  of  tears — ■ 


PIEIUIE    AND    HIS    FAMILY.  89 

he  cried  unto  the  Lord  for  mercy — he  made 
confession  before  him — he  besought  strength 
to  suffer — strength  to  endure  to  the  end — and 
while,  with  his  own  heart-piercing  sorrows, 
he  remembered  the  afflictions  of  his  people, 
and  all  they  might  jet  have  to  sustain,  he 
pleaded  for  a  martyr-spirit,  that  he  might  die 
a  martyr's  death — or  bear,  at  least,  with  cou- 
rage, a  martyr's  pangs.  He  had  thought  oa 
retiring  to  his  own  cottage, — so  long  preserved 
to  him  amid  the  conflagrations  which  devoured 
the  other  villages  of  the  valleys, — that  he  had 
cause  only  for  joy.  And  true,  he  had  much 
cause  for  gratitude,  both  on  that  account  as 
well  as  for  the  honours  he  had  gained  in 
being  buffeted  and  despised  for  his  adorable 
Master's  sake.  These  thoughts,  together 
with  the  recollected  words  of  Blanche,  "  Be 
steadfast,"  seemed  to  flow  into  his  soul  as  he 
continued  on  his  face  in  prayer;  and,  as  he 
remembered  lier  one  petition,  he  said,  -Surely 
The  Lord  is  with  me.'"  He  looked  agair> 
round  his  solitary  room,  as  he  raised  himself 
from  his  attitude  of  prostration — the  sense  of 
anguish,  which  had  tlirown  him  on  the  floor, 
Mas  gone  from  his  heart — he  felt  a  strotig  re- 
turning confidence  springing  up  from  the  act 
of  renewed  faith.  His  fears  regarding  his 
family  were  past;  or  if  they  still,  in  any  mea- 
?'ire  pressed  upon  huii,  yet,  even  here,  he  was 
)iut  without  comfort;  and  one  promise,  which 
H  2 


90  PIERRE  AND   HIS    FAMILY. 

had  often  been  his  solace  in  other  afflictions, 
now  came  into  his  bosom  with  a  message  of 
peace — "All  things  shall  work  together  for 
good  to  them  that  love  God."— '^O  Lord!" 
said  he,  ''surely  I  love  thee! — Whom  have 
I  in  heaven  but  thee?  Is  there  any  in  all  the 
earth  whom  I  should  value  for  one  moment 
without  thee?"  The  spirit  of  Pierre,  as  he 
thus  rose  from  before  the  mercj-seat,  came  off 
like  a  trembling  bird  from  the  snare,  delighted 
to  spread  abroad  again  its  unfettered  wings 
under  the  sweet  heavens.  Freed  from  all  the 
anxieties  which,  a  moment  before,  had  ago- 
nized his  heart  as  with  the  bitterness  of  death, 
he  became  calm  and  serene;  and,  lifting  up 
his  soul  quite  off  the  earth,  he  prepared  to  re- 
new his  communion  with  God,  by  reading  & 
portion  of  his  Holy  Word. 

He  opened  the  blessed  book  at  the  seventh 
chapter  of  the  Acts;  and  proceeded  to  peruse 
it.  It  was  a  passage  which  the  pious  Wal- 
dense  had  known  by  heart  from  his  boyhood — 
it  was  a  passage  wliich  had  often  been  read  in 
his  hearing — it  was  one  over  whicli  the  fathers 
of  the  valley,  and  its  martyi-s,  had  often  prayed 
and  often  pondered;  and  it  met  him  now  like 
the  voice  of  one  beloved,  as,  from  verse  to 
verse,  he  followed  the  so  often  told  history  of 
Abraham,  the  friend  of  God — and  it  com- 
forted him,  at  every  step  of  tlie  patriarch's 


YIEllRE   AND   HIS    FAMILY.  91 

progress,  as  he  thouglit  of  God,  the  friend  of 
man. 

In  the  men  by  whom  Pierre  liad  now  so 
long  been  surrounded,  it  was  easy  to  trace  a 
resemblance  to  the  infuriated  priesthood  of 
Jerusalem.  How  dreadful  the  dominion  of 
passion!  thought  Pierre:  how  fearful  to  be 
given  up,  an  unresisting  victim,  to  the  rage 
of  tempers  so  hideous  as  those  wliicli  agitated 
the  minds  of  the  persecutors  of  Stephen!  Such 
passions  make  men  more  terrible  than  lions, 
savage  and  fierce  as  beasts  of  prey !  From 
viewing  those  "  persecutors  of  the  prophets" 
— those  "betrayers  and  murderers  of  the 
Just  One,"  Pierre  turned  to  contemplate  the 
character  of  vStephen ;  and,  as  he  sat  meditat- 
ing over  the  open  volume,  the  view  of  this 
scene  came  fully  before  his  mind,  the  coun- 
tenance of  tlie  martyr  became  attractive,  not 
only  from  the  exquisite  hcavenliness  of  the 
glory  that  beamed  around  it,  and  which,  to 
the  mind  of  Pierre,  seemed  as  if  he  looked  on 
the  face  of  an  angel,  but  still  more  attractive 
when  viewed  as  opposed  to  the  *•  stift-necked 
and  uncircumcised  in  heart"~the  Jews — who 
stood  "  gnashing  on  him  witli  their  teeth."  It 
possessed  all  the  beauty  of  contrast;  and  the 
contrast  was  soft  and  sweet  beyond  expression 
The  features  of  the  man,  full  of  faith  and  of 
the  Holy  Ghost,  presented  a  calmness — a  re- 
pLrie — a  total  absence  of  all  that  could  irritate. 


93  PIERRE  AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

m  the  least  degree,  the  fury  of  the  maniac 
mob;  it  was  like  the  rainbow  in  the  cloud — 
like  the  still,  small  voice  after  the  tempest — 
sweet  as  an  "  atmosphere  distilled  from  flow- 
ers." The  pious  Waldense  did  not  indeed 
thus  express  himself — ^but  he  felt  all  this; 
and  he  gazed  on  the  holy  portraiture  till 
he  almost  envied  the  blessedness  of  the  mar- 
tyred man,  saying:  "O  Lord,  give  me  of  the 
same  spirit — give  of  the  same  faith; — then 
shall  I  count  all  things  but  loss  for  the  joy  of 
fulfilling  all  thy  will  concerning  me — then 
shall  I  be  more  affected  with  the  wretchedness 
of  my  poor  persecuting  brother  than  with  my 
own  danger — then  shall  I  have  courage  to  fol- 
low my  Master  to  prison  and  to  death — to  the 
torture  and  to  the  stake.  And  oh  I  If  thus  it 
shall  be  mine  to  glorify  thee,  give  me  the  spirit 
of  this  man,  that  I  may  say  with  him,  of  the 
murderers  of  my  people,  '  Lord,  lay  not  this 
sin  to  their  charge!'" 

As  the  solitary  man  went  over  this  portion 
of  sacred  writ,  which  detailed  many  circum- 
stances regarding  the  favourite  people  of  God, 
for  a  long  period  of  years — he,  taught  by  the 
same  Spirit  which  dictated  the  blessed  record, 
pondered  with  delight  on  the  views  which  his 
mind,  simple  in  other  matters,  was  happily 
enabled,  at  this  moment,  to  take  of  the  faith- 
fuiiiecS  and  mercy  e*^"  Jehovah.  The  tender- 
ness, and  manifold  wisdom  of  God  in  provi- 


PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  9o 

dence  particularly  affected  him;  and,  in  the 
little  history  of  Abraham  and  his  children  and 
grandchildren,  as  here  related  by  the  martyr, 
Pierre  thought  he  could  discern  the  counter- 

f)art  of  the  experience  of  almost  every  true  be- 
iever  in  the  world.  Like  the  patriarch,  he 
himself  and  his  little  ones  were  now  called  to 
get  tiiem  out  of  their  country  and  from  their 
kindred,  and  from  tiieir  fathei'S,  to  go  they  knew 
not  whither: — The  thouglit  of  exile  penetrated 
the  heart  of  Pierre;  for  his  delight  was  to  say, 
after  all  his  wanderings,  "  I  dwell  among 
mine  own  people."  But  touched,  as  his  natu- 
ral feelings  were,  with  the  thought  of  leaving 
his  native  valley,  and  seeing  the  flock  of  his 
father  scattered  as  sheep  without  a  shepherd, 
or  led  as  the  ox  to  the  slaughter,  yet  remem- 
bering the  prayer  of  Blanche,  ^'The  Lord  be 
with  thee," — >'If  the  Lord  be  with  me,  and 
mine,"  said  Pierre,  '-that  is  all  I  want." — So 
far  as  faith  was  strong  in  the  mind  of  Pierre, 
so  far  he  had  strong  consolation.  But  no  man 
is  all  grace:  therefore,  as  the  thoughts  within 
him  rested  upon  the  afflictions  of  his  people — 
the  spoliation  of  their  little  property,  the  deatii 
of  their  fathers  and  brothers — the  destitution 
of  the  women  and  children  who  had  fled,  and 
many  of  whom  were  dead, — then  his  spirit 
became  sad,  and  his  soul  sank  within  him. 

From  the  dejection  of  these  feelings  one 
part  of  this  portion  of  the  blessed  Book  re- 


94  PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

lieved  him,  and  he  paused  and  prayed  over  it 
repeatedly.  It  was  that  wherein  the  angel 
of  the  covenant  is  represented  as  speaking  to 
Moses  in  the  desert,  at  the  foot  of  Horeb,  al- 
luding to  the  oppressions  of  Pharaoh  and  the 
reproach  of  his  people — ^'I  have  seen,  I  have 
seen,  the  affliction  of  my  people,  and  am  come 
down  to  deliver  them."  The  toucliing  sym- 
pathy of  the  Friend  of  vSinners,  as  expressed 
by  these  words,  deeply  affected  this  pious 
man. — He  repeated  them  again ;  "  I  have 
seen,  I  have  seen,  the  affliction  of  my  people, 
I  have  heard  their  groaning,  and  am  come 
down  to  deliver  them."  O  !  how  sweet  were 
these  words  of  pity  and  protection  to  the  heart 
of  poor  Beauvoisin,  even  while  he  wept  over 

them ! "  0  my  Lord,  and  my  God,  we  are 

thy  people — behold  our  affliction,  hear  our 
groanings,  come  down  and  deliver  us:  0  save 
us  from  the  hand  of  the  cruel ;  yet  neverthe- 
less if  thy  glory  is  to  be  accomplished  by  our 
sufferings,  Lord,  let  thy  glory  be  dearer  to  us 
than  all  the  earth  beside  ! — 0  give  the  spirit  to 
endure !" 

But  that  which  chiefly  consoled  this  de- 
voted Christian,  in  the  prospect  which  he  by 
no  means  thought  remote,  either  of  his  own 
death,  or  the  utter  destruction  of  his  people, 
was  the  simple  description  here  given  of  the 
death  of  Stephen. — "  And  when  he  had  said 

thi?,  he  FELL  ASLEEP." 


PIERRE    AXD    HIS   FAMILY.  95 

It  seemed  as  if  one  liad  said,  of  the  placid 
slumbers  of  some  darling  infont,  ''  When  I 
had  sung  her  a  hushaby,  she  fell  asleep  r'' — 
"There  is,  then."  said  Pierre,  "no  death  to 
the  believer;  it  is  only  falling  asleep.  '  He 
that  bclieveth  in  me  shall  never  die.'  Tem- 
poral death  is  a  separation  of  the  soul  from 
the  body;  but,  to  the  believer,  it  is  only  a 
nearer  and  closer  union  of  the  soul  to  Christ. 
*  Nothing  shall  separate  me  from  the  love  of 
God,  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus  my  Lord.'" 

In  thoughts  such  as  these,  an<l  in  pouring 
out  his  soul  in  prayer,  this  pious  man  spent 
the  silent  watches  of  the  night.  His  mind, 
)efreshed,  invigorated,  and  composed  by  tlie 
a>e  of  those  means  of  grace  which  our  hea- 
venly Father  has  appointed  for  our  comfort, 
as  we  go  up  through  the  wilderness,  he  was 
enabled  calmly  to  rest  upon  his  Maker,  to 
confide  in  his  promises,  and  to  assure  himself 
of  his  protection,  should  those  men  couardly 
attempt  to  do  that,  by  stealth,  which  the 
power  of  the  house  of  Raymond  had  hitherto 
prevented  them  doing  openly.  Pierre  knew 
well  that  the  promises  on  which  he  most  im- 
plicitly reposed,  extended  neither  to  the  pre- 
servation of  his  life,  nor  to  his  continuance  on 
earth,  any  farther  than  as  these  blessings 
-liould  be  for  his  own  good  and  for  his  Ma- 
^  ei's  glory: — He  had   no  promise  of  immu- 

fv  from  death,  and  he  sought  imne.     With 


96  PIERRE   AND    HIS   FAMILY. 

his  mind  thus  stayed,  and  kept  in  perfect 
peace,  he  went  to  sleep  on  the  seat  on  which 
he  had  been  reading,  his  lamp,  some  time  be- 
fore, having  gone  out.  In  this  state  of  dark- 
ness and  repose  the  solitary  Pierre  had  con- 
tinued not  much  above  an  hour,  when  the 
partially-covered  gleam  of  a  lamp,  which 
tliose  who  carried  seemed  anxious  to  conceal, 
streamed  upon  the  wliite  roof  of  the  room 
where  he  lay,  and  awoke  him.  But  how  shall 
I  relate,  or  describe  the  scene  that  followed ! 
or  indeed,  what  can  I  say  at  all  upon  a  sub- 
ject so  dark  and  so  mysterious.  Alas !  they 
who  then  entered  that  hitherto  peaceful  and 
blessed  cottage,  alone  could  tell  their  dread- 
ful errand.  Suffice  it  to  say,  they  came  with 
minds  made  up  to  accomplish  that  errand,  and 
to  achieve  the  purpose  which  brought  them 
thither — To  compel  Beauvoisin  to  apostatize 
from  the  faith,  to  forsake  his  people  and  his 
God,  or  to  take  his  life.  The  mass,  or  the 
dungeons  of  the  Holy  Office,  or  the  poniard, 
were  the  weapons  by  which  he  was  to  be  sub- 
dued. Alas!  that  Satan  should  prompt  to 
deeds  so  foul,  and  that  a  man  should  not 
slmdder  to  perform  them!  It  is  said  that  a 
peasant,  passing  near  the  cottage,  as  he  es- 
caped out  of  the  village  at  niidnight,  heard 
the  noise  as  of  persons  struggling  together  for 
the  mastery; — and  again  the  voice  of  one  who 
seemed  prajdng  for  the  pardon  of  his  mui 


PIERRE  A\D    HIS    FAMILY.  97 

<]erers; — and  again  a  piercing  cry,  accom- 
panied with  the  words,  '*My  chihJren !  O 
Hiy  chiklreni'* — But  whether  Pierre,  wlien  he 
had  uttered  that  cry,  "fell  asleep,"  or  whe- 
ther, as  some  believe,  he  was  hurried  away  by 
the  familiars  of  tlie  Holy  Office,  and  after- 
wards perished  in  its  prisons,*  is  not  known; 
that  he  was  a  martyr  to  the  faith  is  w^ell 
known,  but  by  what  unheard  of  cruelty  he 
bartered,  remains  a  secret  I  am  unable  to  un- 
ravel. Whether  this  pious  and  holy  man 
pined  for  months  and  years  in  the  dungeons 
of  the  Inquisition,  or  was  speedily  delivered 
trom  the  misery  of  such  a  situation,  by  means 
of  torture,  or  of  fire;  or  whether  he  met  his 
death  that  same  niglit,  under  the  covert  of  his 
own  roof,  is  still  a  mystery.  All  that  was 
ever  heard  from  the  enemy  regarding  him,  was 
their  impudent  as  false  assertion  that  Pierre 
de  Beauvoisin,  ashamed  and  afflicted  by  the 
dishonour  he  had  on  the  preceding  day  thrown 
upon  his  holiness  the  pope  antl  the  reverend 
fathers  of  the  Catholic  church,  hatl  set  fire  to 
his  own  house,  and  perished  amid  its  ruin. 
But  while  this  report  received  the  credit  due 
to  the  consummate  effrontery  that  framed  it, 
no  traces  of  Pierre  could  be  found.  True  in- 
deed it  was,  that,  on  that  very  night,  or  be- 
fore the  dawn  of  day,  the  cottage  at  the  end 


|-  *  See  Note  IV 


98  PIERRE  AND   HIS    FAMILY. 

of  the  lake,  hitherto  preserved  among  the 
wreck  of  others,  was  observed  to  be  on  fire, 
and,  from  the  combustible  materials  of  which 
it  was  constructed,  was  soon  reduced  to  ashes; 
but  by  whom  the  conflagration  was  kindled 
was  never  a  matter  of  doubt.  And  while  the 
crime  perpetrated  there,  was  inscribed  in 
characters  of  blood,  in  the  book  of  the  record 
of  men's  deeds,  let  us  hope  that  the  unimpri- 
soned  spirit  of  the  gentle  and  humble  Wal- 
dense,  was  drinking  in  ineftable  blessedness 


( 


from  the  presence  ot  his  Lord  in  heaven ! 

Or,  if  we  must  reverse  the  picture,  and  paint 
him  alive — in  fetters — in  solitude — in  silence 
— denied  the  sweet  light  of  heaven — uncheer- 
ed  by  the  sound  of  a  human  voice — languish- 
ing out  days,  and  months,  and  years — unvisit- 
ed,  unpitied,  unheard  of,  undefended — the 
thoughts  of  his  heart  going  towards  his  chil- 
dren so  often  that  thought  itself  sickens  at  the 
task; — remembering  her,  who  was  dear  to  him 
as  his  own  soul,  as  long  as  he  could  remember 
her, — as  his  plajTnate  in  boyhood— his  first 
and  only  love — the  wife  of  his  youth— the  mo- 
ther of  his  children— then  viewing  her  as  a 

widow — her  children  orphans But  let  us 

not  pause  over  thoughts  so  excruciating.— Of 
this  we  may  be  assured,  that  no  refinement  in 
cruelty,  no  protraction  of  misery,  no  bribe, 
not  even  that  of  beholding  again  his  beloved 
family — not  the  tremendous  horrors  of  the 


PIERRE   AND    Hlb    FAMILY.  99 

Question,  though  repeated  to  the  laceration 
of  every  joint  and  muscle  of  his  emaciated 
frame,  would  induce  Pierre  to  deny  one  iota 
of  the  truth  for  which  he  suffered,  or  to  ac- 
knowledge one  dogma  of  the  superstition  he 
abhorred;  but  that  he  would,  with  holy  bold- 
ness, maintain,  to  the  last,  the  faith  of  the 
churches  of  the  valleys,  the  faith  once  deli- 
vered to  the  saints,  and,  by  the  saints,  now 
delivered  unto  us.  And  if  this  humble  but 
heroic  Christian,  honoured  to  avouch  the 
truth,  were  also  called  upon  to  bear  testi- 
mony against  error,  we  may  conceive  of  him 
with  the  same  unshrinking  courage,  in  the 
face  of  those  who  could  kill  the  body,  but 
are  not  able  to  kill  the  soul — declarinc^,  what 
lie  had  learned  from  his  youth  to  believe,  that 
the  mass  was  an  abomination,  the  host  an  idol, 
and  purgatory  the  cruellest  fable  that  ever  de- 
ceived the  wretched  children  of  men! 

Thus,  while  the  fate  of  Pierre  is  wrapt  in 
deep  obscurity,  the  principles  by  vvhicli  he 
was  guided,  are  well  known ;  their  truth  and 
power  are  immutable:  and  we  can  remain  in 
no  doubt  about  them,  neither  can  we  doubt  of 
the  strong  consolation  they  would  impart  to 
the  man  under  his  afflictions,  nor  of  his  final 
happy  issue  out  of  all  his  sorrows. 

But  if  what  we  have  imagined  in  regard  to 
this  part  of  the  history  of  Pierre  de  Beauvoi- 
hin,  in  the  prison  house,  be  as  1  have  already 


100  PIERRE    AND   HIS    FAMILY. 

said,  only  conjectural,  ah!  of  how  many  in 
those  days  was  it  true?  Have  there  not  been 
many,  in  every  age  of  antichrist,  who,  could 
they  speak  from  the  dust  into  which  their 
mortal  forms  have  crumbled,  might  tell  of 
deeper  woes  and  sadder  things  than  these? 
Who  can  tell  the  history  of  those  whom  the 
beloved  disciple,  in  vision,  beheld  under  the 
altar,  slain  for  the  word  of  God,  and  for  the 
testimony  wliicli  they  held  ? — who  cried, 
'*  How  long,  O  Lord,  holy  and  true,  dost  thou 
not  judge,  and  avenge  our  blood  on  them  that 
dwell  on  the  earth?"  And,  though  silence 
seems  to  pervade  the  courts  of  heaven,  as 
many  of  the  judgments  prefigured  in  that 
mystic  book  are  related  by  the  man  who  was 
himself  an  exile  for  the  truth,  and  a  companion 
in  the  tribulation  of  the  saints, — yet,  at  the 
judgment  denounced  on  those  by  whom  such 
men  as  the  Christians  of  the  valleys  had  been 
persecuted  in  all  a^es,  a  voice  is  heard  ap- 
plauding the  fiat  of  the  Almighty;  saying, 
"  Thou  art  righteous,  0  Lord,  which  art,  and 
wast,  and  shalt  be,  because  thou  hast  judged 
thus:  for  they  have  shed  the  blood  of  saints 
and  prophets,  and  thou  hast  given  them  blood 
to  drink ;  for  they  are  worthy :"  and  no  sooner 
ceases,  from  the  lips  of  one  angel,  the  ascrip- 
tion of  righteousness  to  the  Everlasting, — than 
another  angel  out  of  the  altar  rejoins,  in  deep 


PIERRE    AND    HIS    FAMILY.  101 


response,  Amen — '^Even  so,  Lord  God  Al- 
mighty"  

Nothing  now  remains  to  mark  the  spot 
where  the  prettiest  cottage  of  all  St.  Madelame 
once  stood,  except  the  scorched  and  blighted 
boughs  of  the  beautiful  chestnut-tree,  that 
used  to  spread  its  superb  foliage,  in  delicious 
shade,  over  the  happy  group  that  often  assem- 
bled there  in  the  clays  that  are  gone  for  ever. 
The  whole  village  is  desolate.  The  cottages 
and  hamlets  which  the  traveller  formerly  met 
at  every  step,  as  he  journeyed  through  the  val- 
ley, are  now  nowhere  to  be  seen.  The  bit- 
tern, that  solitary  and  timid  bird,  has  made 
her  nest  of  reeds  on  the  edge  of  the  lake, 
■vhere  the  dear  boy  Antoine  used  to  sail  his 
jniper  galley  with  its  well-manned  oars:  you 
I  nay  hear  her  boom  across  the  water,  in  the 
-tillness  of  the  noontide  air;  or  you  mav  see 
iier,  of  an  evening,  rising  up  in  her  spiral  as- 
cent against  the  sky,  till  V\e  eye  aches  with 
following  her; — for  St.  Madelaine  has  become 
a  '•  possession  for  the  bittern,  and  for  pools 
of  water,  and  has  been  swept  with  the  besom 
of  destruction" 

Such  is  the  ruin  wrought  by  persecution. 

Yet  God  is  love,  and  his  law  is  love.     Could, 

then,  men  using  the  name  of  religion,   yet 

indulging  the   spirit   of  hatred   armed   with 

I  2 


102  PIERRE    AND    HIS   FAMILY. 

weapons  of  cruelty — could  they  have  pos- 
sessed the  religion  either  of  the  Law  or  of  the 
Gospel  ? 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Pray  ye  that  your  flight  be  not  in  the  winter." 

Matt.  xxiv.  20. 

"O!  the  joy 

To  gaze  upon  thy  face,  and  see  thine  eye 
Beam  once  again  with  life  !  Yet  this  is  death ! 
Beautiful  death  1" 

But  it  is  now  time,  my  beloved  children, 
that  1  should  relate  to  you  the  fate  of  Blanche, 
the  wife  of  Pierre,  and  of  her  dear  family, 
whom  we  left  in  company  with  others  of  the 
valley  of  St.  Madelaine,  beginning  the  slippery 
ascent  of  Mount- Sapin. 

In  those  days  the  roads  across  the  moun- 
tains were  not  what  they  now  are.  Except 
the  track  of  a  mule,  or  the  patfiway  made  by 
the  goatherd;  the  St.  Gothard,  the  Brenner, 
— the  Simplon — and  the  St.  Bernard — stood 
in  all  their  unapproachable  majesty,  circling 
the  horizon  with  a  chain  which,  though  forged 
of  icicles  and  snow,  no  iron  or  steel,  however 


PIERRE   AXD    HIS   FAMILY.  103 

tempered,  or  however  ponderous,  could  un- 
lock. This  immense  barrier  seemed  as  if  it 
couh]  be  surmounted  onlj  by  the  eagle,  when, 
according  to  the  fables  of  antiquity,  taking 
his  tenth  year's  flight  against  the  sun,  he  goes 
up  to  shake  off'  the  weaknesses  of  age,  and  to 
renew  the  vigour  of  delightful  youth.  Tiie 
pathway  along  which  the  unhappy  exiles  of  the 
valleys  were  now  seen  ascending  in  scattered 
groups,  attempting  to  scale  the  mountains, 
was  no  wider, — and  that  only  for  a  short  way, 
— than  what  would  admit  of  a  little  car  drawn 
by  a  couple  of  mules,  placed  one  before  the 
other;  and  even  this  accommodation  could 
only  be  enjoyed  for  a  few  days'  journey,  short 
as  a  day's  journey  was  at  that  season  of  the 
year.  Surely,  then,  we  may  hereby  see  how 
these  holy  people  loved  the  faith  which  they 
professed — and  that,  between  their  love  to 
God,  and  their  terror  of  the  ferocious  and 
brutal  soldiery  w^hom  the  catholic  was  about 
to  let  loose  upon  them,  they  were  constrained 
to  attempt  what  otherwise  might  have  been 
considered  utterly  impracticable.  Nor  could 
husbands,  and  fathers,  for  any  thing  short  of 
the  honour  of  their  God,  and  tlieir  inviolable 
devotion  to  his  cause,  have  suffered  their  fami- 
lies to  perish,  in  unpitied  and  unassisted  mise- 
ry, amid  the  horrors  of  an  Alpine  winter.  So 
that,  whether  they  died  at  tlie  stake,  or  in  the 
mountains,  they  died  for  their  religion,  and 


104  WtRRE   A.XD    HIS    FAMILY. 

thej  must  ever  be  considered  as  the  faithful 
martyrs  of  Jesus  Christ. 

The  first  day's  journey  of  the  exiles  was 
not  so  uncomfortable  as  they  had  anticipated. 
The  forests  on  every  side,  on  the  skirts  of 
the  mountains,  sheltered  them  from  the  nip- 
ping air;  and  the  brightness  of  the  snow  un- 
der the  rays  of  the  clearest  sunshine,  together 
with  the  purest  possible  atmosphere,  cheered 
their  spirits,  and  inspired  them  with  hope.  As 
the  evening  drew  on,  and  the  sun  began  to  set, 
the  coldness  of  the  temperature  became  ex- 
treme, and  each  group  of  sufferers  began  to 
look  out  for  shelter  in  the  little  scattered 
cabins  which  were  still  found  upon  the  sides 
of  Mount-Sapin.  In  the  hospitable  cottages 
of  some  simple  goatherds,  the  Pastor  and  his 
family,  with  that  of  his  brother  Pierre,  and 
some  others  of  his  flock,  were  accommodated. 
The  Pastor  had  accompanied  his  family  and 
gome  of  his  people  thus  far;  but  he  was  to  re- 
turn by  the  light  of  the  moon,  to  St.  Made- 
laine,  where  he  was  expected  to  treat,  in  the 
Council  of  the  Province,  with  the  priests  and 
monks  whom  the  wicked  governor  had  signi- 
fied his  intention  of  sending  to  convert  the 
Waldenses — to  confute  their  pastors,  and  to 
enforce,  in  short,  his  own  cruel  law. 

Before  parting  from  his  beloved  family  and 
people,  and  consigning  them  to  the  care  of 
those  appointed  by  the  little  synod  of  brethren 


PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  105 

t(i  protect  them,  the  Pastor  calle<l  all  of  them 
i(»i;ether  into  the  largest  apartment  of  their 
kind  host;  and,  in  the  haste  which  the  cir- 
cumstances demanded,  and  with  much  of  the 
I  agitation  and  tenderness  which  such  circum- 
I  stances  were  fitted  to  excite, — he  prepared, 
:  with  his  people,  to  address  the  mercy-seat, 
and  to  commit  the  scattered  sheep  to  the  care 
ot  the  Chief  Shepherd — the  Good  Shepherd — 
A\  ho  loved  them  to  the  death ;  and  who,  even 
iliLMi,  had  his  eye  of  pity  tenderly  bent  upon 
them. 

To  encourage  ourselves  in  situations  very 
painful  or  miserable,  by  reflecting  how  many 
others  there  are,  or  have  been  in  the  world, 
^\ho  do  sufter,  or  have  suftered  more  bitterly 
tlian  we,  is  one  of  the  means  of  attaining  to 
comparative  contentment  with  our  own  lot. 
Jjut  especially  in  the  case  of  the  people  of 
God,  suffering  under  the  rod,  whether  it  be 
that  of  chastisement,  or  discipline,  or  of  cor- 
rection, strong  consolation  may  be  drawn 
from  the  experience  of  others,  whom  the 
Lord,  while  he  thus  similarly  chastened,  yet 
declared,  at  the  same  time,  that  he  loved 
them. 

To  topics  of  a  nature  such  as  I  have  hinted 
at.  the  Pastor  Pascal,  this  sad  night,  directed 
the  attention  of  his  dejected  auditors; — and 
reminding  them  of  a  subject  familiar  to  them 
from  infancy — of  the  sufterings  of  the  church 


106  PIERRE  AND   HIS    FAMILY. 

in  all  ages — of  the  purpose  of  God  in  permit- 
ting his  people  to  be  tried  with  cruel  mock- 
ings  and  scourgings — with  bonds  and  impri- 
sonment— to  be  stoned — sawn  asunder — 
tempted — slain  with  the  sword — to  wander 
about  in  sheep-skins  and  goat-skins,  being 
destitute,  afflicted,  tormented;  or,  as  we  are 
this  night,  mj  beloved  people,  wandering  in 
the  mountains;  or,  as  you  may  yet,  alas!  de- 
sire to  be — sheltering  yourselves  in  dens  and 
caves  of  the  earth : — O !  remember  that,  in  all 
this,  the  will  of  your  God-'concerning  you  is 
your  sanctification.  The  voice  of  the  Pastor 
sunk  as  he  took  this  prospective  view  of  the 
misery  that  awaited  his  children, — for  all  his 
people  were  dear  to  him  as  his  children, — and 
when  he  paused  to  overcome  the  suftbcating 
sensation  which  oppressed  him,  the  whole  of 
the  little  assembly  indulged  in  tears.  Ga- 
brielle  threw  her  arms  around  her  mother's 
neck,  and  sobbed  upon  her  bosom;  but  Hu- 
bert, remembering  the  words  of  his  father, 
cried  secretly  unto  the  Lord,  and,  with  a  no- 
ble courage,  resisted  the  despair  that  was 
ready  to  seize  him. 

Alter  a  pause  of  a  few  moments,  in  which 
nothing  was  to  be  heard  but  weeping — that 
sound  which  is  the  most  painful  to  the  ear, 
that  is  the  channel  to  a  human  heart, — the 
Pastor,  regaining  strength,  hastened  to  pro- 
ceed, that  he  might  crowd,  into  the  few  mo- 


PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  lOr 

ments  he  liad  to  spare,  as  much  instruction 
and  consolation  as  the  time  would  admit  of. 
While,  therefore,  he  reminded  his  people  of 
the  permission  which  even  the  Holy  Book  of 
God,  gave  them  to  bewail  their  calamities, 
he  would,  nevertheless,  he  said,  counsel  them 
rather  to  call  to  remembrance  the  past  mer- 
cies of  the  Lord — to  think  upon  the  multi- 
tude of  his  mercies — and  their  tenderness — 
and  to  cherish,  in  their  bosom,  that  sweetest 
and  loveliest  of  all  the  graces — the  grace  of 
hope.  *'  Above  all,"  he  added,  •'  let  us  deep- 
ly acknowledge  the  righteous  and  unimpeach- 
able justice  of  God  in  all  we  suffer — that  it  is 
of  his  mercy  alone  we  are  not  utterly  con- 
sumed; and,  because  his  compassions  are  as 
eternal  as  his  love,  let  us  also,  while  we  are 
perfectly  submissive  to  the  rod,  nevertheless 
cry  for  deliverance.  A  greatei-  sufterer  than 
we,  said,  'If  it  be  possible,  let  this  cup  pass 
from  me.'  Let  us,  therefore,  not  fear  to  cry 
for  deliverance.  His  arm  is  not  shortened 
that  it  cannot  save,  neither  his  ear  heavy  that 
it  cannot  hear.  It  is,  alas  I  my  people — it  is 
our  iniquities  that  have  separated  between  us 
and  our  God — it  is  our  sins  that  have  caused 
him  to  hide  his  face  from  us.  O I  Holy  Fa- 
ther!" continued  Pascal,  raising  his  humid 
eyes  and  clasped  hands  to  hea\en,  "O!  Holy 
Father!  whom  the  world  knoweth  not,  but 
who  hast  revealed    thvself  unto  babes  and 


108  PIERRE   AXD    HIS    FAMILY. 

sucklings,  such  as  we,  turn  thee  again  unto  us, 
and  have  mer-c}'  upon  us !  0  hide  not  thy  face 
from  us !  We  have  transgressed  and  rebelled 
— thou  hast  not  pardoned — thou  hast  covered 
with  anger  and  persecuted  us — thou  hast  slain 
— ^thou  hast  not  pitied — thou  hast  covered  thy- 
self with  a  cloud  that  our  prayers  should  not 
pass  through — thou  hast  made  us  as  the  ofF- 
scouring  and  refuse  in  the  midst  of  the  peo- 
ple. Our  enemies  have  opened  their  mouths 
against  us — fear  and  a  snare  is  come  upon  us 
— desolation  and  destruction:  turn  us  unto 
thee,  0  Lord!  Renew  our  days  as  of  old.  O 
reject  us  not  utterly ! — appear !  arise !  O  thou 
that  dwellest  between  the  cherubim,  deliver 
thy  people  as  of  old !  How  long,  O  Lord !  for 
ever,  shall  thy  wrath  burn  like  fire?" 

In  words  of  passionate,  and  importunate, 
and  vehement  supplication,  as  well  as  in  the 
deepest  prostration  of  soul  and  spirit,  the 
Pastor  prayed  with  and  for  his  people;  and, 
after  commending  all,  and  many  of  them  even 
by  name,  to  the  Father  of  Spirits,  he  embraced 
his  beloved  family,  and  accompanied  by  some 
of  the  elders  of  the  people,  they  retraced,  by 
the  light  of  the  moon,  their  steps  through  the 
snow  towards  the  now  desolated  village  of 
St.  Madelaine-de-Belleville. 

At  the  departure  of  the  Pastor,  his  flock 
seemed  to  become  alive,  as  it  were  for  the 
first  time,  to  a  sense  of  all  their  misery;  and 


PIERRR   AXD    HIS    FAMILY.  109 

lothing  but  their  total  ignorance  of  the  dread- 
j  lul  future  before  them,  and  their  stronger  ter- 
!  ror  of  the  banditti  in  the  valleys,  would  liave 
prevented  them  returning  to  the  protection  of 
rheir  husbands,  where,  alas!  had  they  gone, 
they  would  only  have  perished  on  the  sword 
(/f  the  ferocious  Piedmontese. 

But  tlie  Lord  hath  a  balm  for  every  wo,  if 
he  see  meet  to  bestow  it  To  many,  in  mercy, 
he  this  night  sent  that  sweet  '•  sleep  that  knits 
up  the  ravelled  sleeve  of  care;"  and  which 
Irings  with  it,  if  not  an  oblivion,  at  least  a 
• -sation  of  pain,  and  of  tlie  anguish  of 
ought,  alike  as  it  regards  the  memory  of  the 
f  ,i>t,  or  fears  respecting  the  future. 

Blanche  also  comforted    herself  with   the 

liope  that,  ere  long,  she  would  be  rejoined  by 

lier  dear  husband,  and  that,  whatever  might 

belall  iierself,  the  father  of  her  children  would 

br^  near  to  protect  them.  And  \A'hen  the  bright 

rays  of  the  sun  illumined  the  dwelling  they 

^v('re  next  morning  about  to  quit,  she  looked 

with  cheerful  spirits,  and  a  gladdened  heart, 

i  upon  the  scene;  and  though  the  village  of  St. 

j  ^Iadelaine,  seen  from  the  heights,  had  dimi- 

I  nished  in  appearance  to  a  very  minute  object, 

arul  its  pretty  lake,  in  breadth  and   length, 

iMoked   not  much  larger  than  the  hand;  yet 

'■  river  that  wound  its  way  through  the  val- 

.  and  which,  in  comparison  of  the  snows  by 

\    iich    she   was    surrounded,   resembled    the 

K 


m 


110  riERTlF.   AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

twisted  ringlets  of  a  riband  of  ashy  blueness, 
pleased  her  eye,  and  she  paused  on  its  zigzag 
evolutions  with  delight.  Then  marking,  as  far 
as  she  could,  in  imagination,  the  route  by 
which  Beauvoisin  would  follow  her,  she  traced 
his  steps  from  the  cottage  to  the  Goat's  Bridge 
— from  the  bridge  to  the  ascent  of  Mount  Sa- 
pin — then  to  the  forest,  "where,''  said  she 
to  herself,  "  he  will  pause  for  refreshments  at 
the  cottage  of  St.  Marie;  then  he  will  cross 
the  ravine — then,  in  a  few  days  more,  he  shall 
take  thee,  my  darling  baby,"  continued 
Blanche,  as  slie  gazed  on  the  sleeping  clierub 
on  her  lap;  "and  covering  thee  from  the 
piercing  cold,  he  will  carry  thee  in  his  arms; 
place  Gabriel le  and  Hubert  on  faithful  old 
Benoit,  and  make  me  walk  with  courage  by 
his  side." 

This  was  the  picture  which,  from  time  to 
time,  hope  painted  in  the  morning  to  the  mind 
of  Blanche — which  fancy  fed  on  through  the 
weary  day;  and  over  which  disappointed  feel- 
ing wept  at  night,  and  wept  more  bitterly, 
when,  as  sometimes  happened,  the  exiles  dis- 
covered that,  after  a  day  of  cold,  hunger,  and 
toil,  through  wind  and  snow,  they  found  them- 
selves, at  sunset,  near  to  the  spot  from  which 
they  had  departed  in  the  morning.  No  Pierre 
arrived — no  courier  in  view  from  the  village. 
The  first  intelligence,  obtained  by  the  exiles, 
ot  those  whom  they  had  left  behind,  was  that 


PIERRE    AND    Hlfi    FAMILY.  Ill 

\\hi<:li  thvy  received  as  tliey  lingered  on  the 
last  points  of  the  mountains  from  whence  they 
could  perceive  tlie  valleys, — in  the  sij^ns  of 
conflagration  which,  risinf;  against  the  deadly 
darkness  of  a  clouded  and  nioonless  sky,  told 
them  that  the  distant  villages  towards  the 
south  were  in  flames;  but  St.  Madelaine,  ly- 
ing more  immediately  under  tlieir  feet,  could 
not  have  been  observed  by  them,  even  if  it 
lad,  by  that  time,  suftered  the  same  fate, 
rhis  was  a  night,  indeed,  of  anguish  to  the 
exiles,  who,  notwithstanding  their  own  misery, 
— some  of  them  having  already  lost  their  aged 
parents  and  infant  children,  from  cold,  and 
fatigue,  and  privations  of  every  kind,  as  well 
as  unnumbered  hardships, — yet  spent  the 
night  in  prayers  to  God,  and  in  tears  for  their 
brethren.  The  cry  that  broke  from  their  over- 
charged hearts,  as,  at  different  intervals,  they 
saw  the  flames  burst  with  sublime  and  fearful 
splendour  against  the  sky,  was  a  cry  of  excru- 
ciating and  agonizing  sympathy  with  the  sor- 
rows of  those  who  were  perishing  in  the  ruin 
of  their  homes,  with  their  dying  thoughts,  per- 
haps, fixed  upon  the  exiles.  But  the  Lord 
heard  that  cry;  and,  blessed  be  they  who  ut- 
tered it,  the  holy  army  of  martvrs  did  not  die 
in  vain.  Even  then  the  Lord,  in  his  inscruta- 
ble wisdom,  was  answering  their  own  often 
repeated  supplications,  that  his  *'way  might 
be  known  ui)on  earth;''  and  in  their  blood  he 


112  PIERRE   AND   HIS    FAMILY. 

was  sowing  the  seeds  of  a  glorious  church  unto 
himself. 

But  why  should  I  attempt  to  describe  the 
anguish  of  those  unhappy  exiles  who,  this 
night,  from  the  frozen  regions  of  the  unshel- 
tered Alps,  witnessed  the  awful  and  heart- 
rending view  of  their  cottages  and  villages  in 
flames,  joined  with  the  fearful  thought  that 
many,  who  were  precious  to  them  as  their 
own  souls,  were  perishing  amid  that  destruc- 
tion— or,  to  escape  temporal  death,  were  per- 
haps apostates  from  the  faith  ? 

To  the  anguish  of  this  night's  scene  suc- 
ceeded the  misery  of  the  next  day's  march 
The  exiles  had  now  lost  sight  of  the  whole  of 
the  valleys,  and  had  plunged  into  a  labyrinth 
among  the  mountains,  from  which  every  thing 
was  excluded  but  the  view  of  the  sky  above, 
and  the  snow  beneath  their  feet.  The  last 
sign  of  human  habitation  had  also  disappeared, 
and  death  seemed  to  be  the  only  object  that 
presented  itself  whether  they  should  attempt 
to  proceed,  or  whether  they  should  return. — 
Return  indeed  was  impossible ;  for  the  provi- 
sions of  those,  who,  as  they  came  onward,  had 
been  liberally  shared  with  them,  were  now 
exhausted;  and  at  La  Flechere  alone,  could 
they  arrive  at  it,  they  had  hope  of  meeting 
with  supplies. 

The  miseries  of  this  afflicted  people  became 
not  only  every  day, — for  many  of  them  saw 


PIERRE    AND    HIS    FAMILY.  113 

iii  more  days, — hui  cvoi y  houf.  more  deplora- 
l)ie.  The  snow,  \vhicli  liitlieito  had  been  hard, 
.uid  partly  beaten  by  the  parties  wlio  first  set 
Milt  from  the  valleys — now  presented  only 
mountains  of  drift — or,  falling  in  showers  from 
heaven,  or  rising  in  whirlwinds  from  the  scat- 
tered wreaths,  not  only  overwhelmed  the 
\\  retched  travellers  with  terror,  but,  blocking 
lip  every  trace  of  route  or  road,  ]}recipitated 
many  into  fathomless  abysses,  to  arise  no  more 
— strewed  the  paths  with  the  dying  and  the 
dead — and  laid  the  young  conductor  or  the 
helper  of  the  aged,  if  he  chanced  to  fall  in  at- 
tempting to  assist  his  frozen  grandsire, — laid 
him  also,  incapable  of  exertion,  in  a  few  hours 
dead  at  his  feet.* 

To  such  extreme  distress  were  the  fugitives 
tiom  St.  Madelaine  reduced,  that  it  is  sup- 
posed none  of  them  could  have  survived  much 
longer,  when  a  courier  from  the  valleys,  ac- 
<  ompanied  with  persons  carrying  supplies  of 
(ood  and  covering,  overtook  them.  The  intel- 
ligence of  whicii  he  was  possessed,  so  far  as  it 
regarded  the  destruction  of  his  people,  he 
endeavoured  to  mitigate  or  to  conceal;  and 
cheering  the  poor  exiles,  encouraged  them  to 
proceed  to  La  Flechere,  where  the  inhabitants 
of  De  Belleville  were  directed  to  rendezvous; 
and  where  many  of  them  m  ould  meet  their  re- 

*  See  Note  V. 
K   2 


114  PIERRE  AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

lations  and  friends,  these  having  crossed  the 
mountains  by  another  route. 

This  news  served  to  give  those  who  re- 
mained alive  some  hope;  and,  when  they  were 
informed  that  they  might  reach  La  Flechere 
next  day,  their  drooping  spirits  revived,  and 
they  made  every  effort  to  proceed;  and  those 
who  were  ready  to  perish,  and  who  desired 
death  rather  than  life,  consented  to  support 
its  burden  a  few  hours  longer.  But  no  sooner 
had  the  courier  proceeded  onward  to  the  suc- 
cour of  those  who  were  before,  than  many, 
whom  his  presence  had  in  a  manner  revived, 
again  relapsed  into  languor,  and,  unable  or  too 
dejected  to  make  any  further  endeavour  to 
continue  their  journey,  lay  down  and  perished 
m  the  snow. 

But  my  object  in  this  little  history  was,  to 
confine  myself  to  what  concerned  Pierre  and 
his  family.  The  death  of  the  pious  father 
was  carefully  concealed  from  his  wife  and 
children,  by  the  courier,  and  those  who  ac- 
companied him;  who,  to  all  the  anxious  in- 
quiries made  by  all,  had  directions  to  answer 
vaguely,  and  to  say  nothing  to  depress  or  af- 
flict, but  every  thing  to  inspirit  and  comfort 
the  exiles.  Among  the  wretched,  therefore, 
who  were  cheered  by  the  hope  of  reaching  La 
Flechere  on  the  morrow,  and  of  their  being 
rejoined  by  her  husband,  was  Blanche,  the 
wife  of  the  martyred  Pierre  de  Beauvoisin. 


PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  115 

Her  trials  had  been  great,  as  well  as  thos«;  of 
the  other  exiles;  but,  till  this  day,  all  her  chil- 
dren had  been  preserved  to  her  alive;  and 
therefore  she  had,  as  siie  said,  something  to 
suffer,  but  nothing  to  mourn  for.  The  little 
babe,  however,  her  darling  Henri,  no  longer 
supplied  with  the  nourishment  which  hitherto 
he  had  drawn  from  the  "  fountain  of  his  mo- 
ther's bosom,"  had  for  some  days  languished 
in  her  arms,  and,  becoming  weaker  and 
weaker,  between  excess  of  want  and  excess 
of  cold,  had  that  morning  closed  his  stiffened 
eyelids  to  open  them  no  morel  When  his 
wretched  mother  became  conscious  of  this 
loss,  her  first  impulse  was  to  cry  upon  her 
companions  to  see  and  behold  if  their  grief  or 
any  of  their  sorrows  were  half  so  bitter  as  her 
own.  But,  knowing  that  the  moment  she 
should  discover  to  those  around  her  the  death 
of  her  child,  they  would,  that  moment  per- 
haps, take  him  from  her  wearied  bosom,  and 
bury  him  in  some  fearful  wreath  of  snow, — 
she  concealed  the  maternal  aiiguish  which  op- 
pressed her;  and,  determined  that,  if  Pierre 
could  not  see  his  family  again  alive,  he  should 
see  them  dead,  she  formed  the  resolution  of 
carrying  the  lifeless  infant  in  her  arms,  and 
attempted,  by  a  false  and  fearful  levity  of 
spirit,  to  elude  the  discovery  of  the  loss  she 
had  sustained. 

Poor  Blanche,  by  this  means,  succeeded, 


116  PIERRE   AND   HIS    FAMILY. 

# 

in  some-  measure,  in  imposing  upon  her  com- 
panions in  suffering.  But  Hubert  and  Ga- 
brielle  viewed,  with  alaim,  the  strangeness  of 
manner  and  the  extravagant  cheerfulness  of 
their  mother.  They  had  often  wished,  as 
usual,  to  relieve  her  of  her  burden,  and  to 
carry  dear  Henri  by  turns;  but,  at  every  at- 
tempt to  raise  the  cloak  that  covered  him,  she 
placed  her  finger  on  her  mouth,  and,  with  a 
fearfully  beautiful  smile  of  intense  entreaty 
that  they  would  not  awake  him,  whispered, 
"  Hush !  hush !  he  is  asleep." 

But  the  weight  with  which  the  dead  child 
bore  upon  the  already  exhausted  frame  of  his 
wretched  mother,  occasioned  her,  in  despite 
of  her  utmost  exertions  and  efforts  to  proceed, 
to  fall  behind  the  other  sufferers  in  the  path. 
Occupied  with  one  desire  of  concealing  his 
death,  and  of  not  relinquishing  him  to  the  peo- 
ple who  had  the  charge  of  the  exiles,  and  who 
would  think  it  their  duty  immediately  to  con- 
sign the  little  corpse  to  its  last  abode,  she  be- 
came forgetful  alike  of  what  was  due  to  the 
preservation  of  her  other  children  and  to  her 
own  protection  and  security.  In  this  way  she 
and  they  fell  quite  behind  the  rest  of  the 
party.  The  day  indeed  had  been  fine  in  com- 
parison  of  the  preceding;  for  it  had  been, 
though  one  of  intense  frost,  yet  bright  and 
clear,  and  the  sunbeams  darting  down  upon 
them,  and  concentrated  in  the  bottom  of  the 


PIERRE    AND    HIS    FAMILY.  117 

deep  valley  into  which  they  had  descended 
the  day  before,  there  were  times  when  tlie  air 
Icit  even  warm.  It  was  not,  therefore,  till  the 
sun,  which  had  shone  brightly  on  their  path, 
had  gone  down,  and  the  moon  began  to  rise 
with  a  red  and  ruddy  li^ht,  that  Blanche, 
feeling  again  the  effects  of  cold,  discovered, 
with  alarm,  that  she  and  her  children  were 
It^ft  behind,  and  that  they  had  utterly  lost 
sight  of  their  wretched  companions — and  that, 
unless  strength  were  given  her  to  quicken  her 
])ace,  they  would  probably  all  perish  before 
the  dawn  of  another  day.  She  therefore 
strained  every  nerve  to  pursue  the  path  which 
she  imagined  the  rest  had  followed ;  but,  after 
continuing  their  weary  and  silent  way  some 
time,  they  discovered  that  they  had  lost  their 
road,  and  that  here  all  traces  of  footsteps  end- 
ed, and  that  the  covert  of  a  forest  \vas  all  the 
shelter  they  could  hope  for  that  night. — The 
agony  which  this  separation  from  tlie  rest  of 
her  people  occasioned  to  the  distracted  mother 
cannot  be  conceived. — "The  Lord  hath  for- 
saken me,"  she  exclaimed  in  the  bitterness  of 
her  heart,  "and  my  God  hath  forgotten  me;" 
and  she  was  about  to  sit  down  in  dumb  de- 
spair; '*  But  let  us  cry  to  him  in  time  of  trou- 
ble, mother;"  said  Hubert,  "  tliis  is  what  the 
Lord  bids  us  do."  The  mother  raised  her 
streaming  eyes  to  heaven,  and  implored  pro- 
tection for  herself  and  her  children — entreated 


118  PIERRE    AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

the  fori:;ivGness  oi"  all  her  sins,  atid  supplicated 
mercy  tor  her  afflicted  people.  Having  paused, 
during  these  moments  ot*  prayer,  on  the  edge 
of  the  forest,  whose  thickly  matted  boughs  of 
birch  and  pine  excluded  at  once  the  light  and 
air  above  their  heads,  while  the  naked  stems 
admitted  and  protected  the  wanderers  below, 
— Blanche,  when  she  had  finished  the  strong 
cries  of  supplication  with  which  she  had  im- 
portuned the  throne  of  grace,  rose  from  her 
Knees,  and  began  to  attempt  to  find  shelter 
for  the  night;  but,  stiff'  with  cold,  and  ex- 
hausted with  fatigue,  she  fell  powerless  to  the 
earth. 

Now  was  the  time  for  Hubert,  that  dear 
boy,  to  remember  the  last  words  of  his  father, 
and  to  cry  unto  the  I^ord  to  preserve  them, 
and  to  help  him  to  take  care  of  his  mother. 
This  he  did,  pious  child,  almost  with  a  scream 
of  agony.  The  cry  aroused  his  mother  from 
her  lethargy,  and  Gabrielle,  taking,  by  force, 
the  poor  baby  from  her  mother's  lap,  discover- 
ed, to  her  exquisite  grief,  that  Henri  was 
dead ! 

Hubert  learnt,  with  ovfipowering  sorrow, 
the  discovery  of  a  secret  which,  poor  anxious 
boy,  he  had  suspected  more  than  once  during 
the  day.  He  had  observed  the  strangely  al- 
tered looks  and  unaccountable  demeanour  of 
his  distracted  mother,  and  he  imagined  that 
her  grief  and  sorrow  had  made  her  mad.     The 


PIERRE   AXD    HIS    FAMILY.  119 

Ijov  turned  aside  to  weep, — for  he  would  not 
lave  his  mother  see  his  tears, — and  truly  his 
I, cart  felt  as  if  it  would  break,  when  he  raised 
the  darling  baby  in  his  arms,  stiff  with  tiie 
(hill  of  death  :  his  pretty  lips  were  still  red — 
;i[id  tlie  budding  tooth,  which  had  been  shown 
u,  all  a  few  days  before,  and  whicii  Gabrielle 
had  called  his  first  pearl,  was  seen  in  his  love- 
ly open  mouth;  for  death  had  found  him  with 
a  smile  on  his  cherub  face,  and  had  left  it 
there.  ^^  Sweet  baby!"  said  Hubert,  "no 
wonder  that  it  almost  broke  mother's  heart  to 
see  thee — dead!" 

This  kind  boy  would  have  taken  the  child 
from  his  mother,  and  made  a  little  grave  for 
it  among  the  trees  cf  the  forest;  but,  at  every 
attempt  to  rob  lier  of  her  infant,  a  new  energy 
of  grief,  and  a  new  capacity  of  wretchedness 
returned  to  poor  Blanche,  and,  with  tears  of 
anguish,  she  supplicated  Hubert  to  forbear. 
And  as  the  children  saw  it  was  to  no  purpose 
to  ask  their  mother  to  part  with  Henri,  but 
only  made  her  fold  the  icy  corpse  closer  to 
her  breast,  they  were  obliged  to  permit  her 
to  do  in  this  matter  rather  wliat  she  wished 
than  what  was  good  for  her;  though,  alas! 
by  that  means,  she  took  death  itself  to  her 
bosom. 

Hubert,  remembering  his  father'^s  injunc- 
tion— ''Care  for  thy  mother,  boy," — did  not 
long  indulge  in  grief.     "•  We  have  lost    our 


120  PIERRF.  AND   HIS   FAMILY. 

little  brother,  darling  Henri,"  said  he  to  him- 
self; "our  f'atlier  is  far  from  us — lie  may  al- 
ready have  won  a  martyr's  crown — I  know 
not — mother  will  not  live  lonff  here  in  the 
open  air,  in  the  darkness  of  night — her  grief 
and  misery  will  make  her  die  too,  unless  I 
can  do  something  for  her."  Then,  after  a 
pause,  he  said,  "But  even  this  is  better  than 
the  mass:  our  divine  Saviour  is  near  to  us, 
though  we  do  not  see  him — and,  as  the  dear 
old  Pastor,  my  grandfather,  always  said — 
'all  things  are  for  good.'  " 

While  these  thoughts  were  passing  in  the 
mind  of  Hubert,  his  hands  were  not  idle:  he 
desired  Gabrielle  to  go  and  attend  to  his  mo- 
ther, and  he  himself  went  and  uidoaded  Be- 
noit  the  old  mule,  who  was  divinj^  his  nose 
into  the  snow  to  see  if  he  could  find  a  mouth- 
ful of  grass,  or  a  bit  of  furze,  with  which  to 
appease  his  hunger;  but,  though  the  moon 
rase  red  and  bright,  and  the  smallest  objects 
had  each  their  separate  shadow  on  the  snow, 
yet  nothing  to  the  taste  of  Benoit  was  disco- 
verable, except  a  few  long  spikes  of  reeds, 
which  rose  higher  than  the  surface  of  the 
drifted  wreaths  around  him.  Hubert  lifted 
from  the  mule  all  the  cloaks  and  clothes  with 
which  he  was  laden,  and  which  the  party, 
while  walkinr,  having  found  too  heavy  to 
carry,  had  thrown  across  the  panniers, — and 
going  to  work  under  the  covert  of  the  forest. 


PIERUK   AXD    HIS    FAMILY.  121 

n8  he  had  seen  the  men  do  amon^  the  snow, 
ho  succeeded  in  rearing  a  little  tent  for  his 
mother  to  protect  her  from  the  cold:  he  hung 
it  all  round  with  cloaks  and  blankets,  and  the 
.iiound  he  covered  with  as  many  clothes  as 
tie  could  collect  from  Benoit's  back  and  his 
own;  and  of  these  he  made  a  bed  for  her  to 
lie  down  on.  Then  tiiis  active  boy  went  a 
little  farther  into  the  dark  forest,  and  brought 
plenty  of  wood,  which,  happily,  lay  scattered 
about  in  profusion  upon  the  ground,  and  which, 
though  very  large,  he  lifted  with  all  his 
strength, — and  he  made,  in  front  of  his  tent, 
a  place  for  a  great  fire  to  keep  the  air  warm 
around  his  mother,  and  to  keep  away  the  wild 
beasts  of  the  forest,  which  at  night  creep 
abroad  to  seek  their  food.  When  Hubert 
had  got  all  his  wood  ready,  he  struck  the  flint 
of  his  tinder-box  over  a  few  dried  leaves, 
lichens,  and  pieces  of  withered  sedge  which 
he  found  blowing  about,  and  thereby  kindled 
such  a  great  blazing  fire  that  in  a  short  time 
they  felt  all  more  comfortable.  The  courier 
had  supplied  them  with  a  little  food  and  wine, 
and  he  gave  some  to  his  mother  and  to  Ga- 
brielle;  but,  as  their  ration  was  but  scanty, 
and  he  was  afraid  it  might  not  suffice  to  keep 
them  alive,  if  they  were  to  be  long  in  rejoining 
the  rest  of  the  people, — he  looked  twice  at 
the  bread  that  remained  for  his  own  portion ; 
and,  though  he  was  very  hungry,  yet  he  loved 


122  PIERRE    AXD    HIS   FAMILY. 

his  mother  and  Gabrielle  so  dearly,  that  he 
put  all  back  into  the  wallet  without  tasting  it, 
and,  picking  up  some  of  the  beech-mast,  and 
acorns,  which  he  found  lying  under  the  trees, 
he  ate  them  secretly  to  satisfy  his  hunger, 
saying,  ^'  God  who  feedeth  the  young  ravens 
when  they  cry  unto  him,  will  give  us  all  food 
to  eat."  Blessed  be  liis  holy  name,  there  is 
no  lack  to  them  that  trust  in  him,  as  the  dear 
old  Pastor  used  to  say : 

"  The  lions  young  may  hungry  be, 

And  they  may  lack  their  food  ; 
But  they  that  truly  seek  the  Lord 

Shall  surely  want  no  good." 

It  was  now  late  in  the  night;  the  moon, 
high  as  the  summer  sun,  was  standing  across 
the  heavens,  sometimes  obscured  by  a  career- 
ing cloud,  and  sometimes  seen  in  all  her  glo- 
rious light  of  beauty,  smiling,  like  the  counte- 
nance of  a  beloved  friend,  upon  the  uplifted 
face  that  gazed  on  her,  and  passing  along  the 
sky  in  undisputed  and  unrivalled  pre-emi- 
nence amid  all  the  host  of  heaven.  The  little 
tent,  which  Hubert  had  constructed  for  his 
motlier,  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  ibrest,  and 
was  only  partially  seen  under  the  light  of  the 
moon  :  the  rest  was  in  deep  shadow  under  the 
naked  arms  of  an  aged  beecii,  whose  bianches 
reached  almost  to  the  ground.  In  the  tent  lay 
Gabrielle  and  her  mother,  in  whose  arn>5  was 


PIERRE   AXD    HI5i    FAMILY.  123 

the  lifeless  babj' ;  but  tIi(Me  was  no  room  for 
Hubert,  who  sat  without,  by  the  lire,  wrapt  in 
one  of  his  father's  watch -coats.  Old  Benoit, 
who  seemed  to  perceive,  either  by  instinct  or 
observation,  that  things  were  not  as  they 
ought  to  be,  or  else  liked  the  heat  of  the  fire, 
laid  himself  down  as  near  his  youn^  master  as 
lie  could.  He  had  been  previously  foraging 
Iftr  himself,  and  seemed  to  have  got  a  pretty 
M)od  supper,  but  wiiere,  Hubert  cared  not  to 
inquire;  though,  if  Hubert  had  known  that  a 
human  habitation  was  so  near  him,  it  would 
have  cheered  hi§  heart — for  Benoit  had  dis- 
covered the  back  of  a  cottage,  or  goatherd's 
cabin,  half  hid  in  the  snow,  and,  climbing  up 
its  lofty  roof,  had  made  his  supper  on  the 
"short  and  musty  straw"  of  its  mouldering 
thatch. 

As  Hubert  sat  without,  on  the  trunk  of  an 
aged  pine,  his  mother  called  to  him,  and 
bade  him  come  in  within  the  shelter  of  their 
tent.  She  said  that  she  could  not  sleep — she 
could  not  pray — she  had  a  pain  in  lier  head, 
and  in  her  heart — she  feared  she  was  not  long 
for  this  world;  and  then,  turning  to  the  child, 
she  addressed  it  with  a  half  wild,  half  tender 
expression,  something  between  tiie  wander- 
ings of  delirium  and  tlie  solemnity  of  devotion, 
saying — 


124  PIERRE    AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

"  Sleep,  little  baby,  sleep  ! 

Not  in  thy  cradle  bed, 
Not  on  thy  mother "'s  breast , 
Henceforth  shall  be  thy  rest, 

But  with  the  quiet  dead. 

"  Yes,  with  the  quiet  dead, 

Baby,  thy  rest  shall  be  : 
Oh  !  many  a  weary  wight, 
Weary  of  life  and  light. 

Would  fain  lie  down  with  thee. 

"  Flee,  little  tender  nursling. 

Flee  to  thy  grassy  nest : 
There  the  first  flowers  shall  blow, 
The  first  pure  flake  of  snow 

Shall  fall  upon  thy  breast." 

*' Hubert,"  she  added,  "do  not  let  them 
bury  us  among  the  snow — No,  no,  boj;  not 
among  the  snow — unless  Rizpah  the  daughter 
of  Aiah,  the  mother  of  Armoni  and  Mephi- 
bosheth,  were  here  to  watcli  us — for  you 
know,  Hubert — you  know,  slie  suffered  nei- 
ther the  birds  of  the  air  to  rest  on  them  by 
day,  nor  the  beasts  of  the  field  by  night." 

The  cliildren  wept,  as  well  they  might, 
while  their  poor  mother  talked  in  this  man- 
ner: but  happy  would  it  have  been  for  them 
if  she  had  continued  to  do  so  all  night  rather 
than  have  gone  to  sleep.  For,  to  sleep  in  such 
a  temperature,  under  the  thin  shelter  of  their 


PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  125 

tent,  was,  tliou^i;)!  y(»ul!i  might  sustain  it,  with 
its  natural  lieat  and  animal  spirits  to  support 
its  warmth, — yet  to  the  disconsolate  and 
over-wearied  mother,  exhausted  alike  in  mind 
and  body, — to  sleep,  in  such  circumstances, 
how  full  of  danj^cr!  but  Hubert,  out  of  kind- 
ness to  his  motlier,  besought  her  to  compose 
her  spirits;  to  think  no  more  of  Henri  but  as 
he  w  as  in  heaven ;  and  to  bless  God  that  he 
was  gone  to  such  a  happy  place — where  he 
would  see  his  divine  Saviour,  and  know  him 
better  than  even  we,  mother,  w  ho  are  so  much 
older.  This  talk  of  pious  Hubert's  seemed  to 
calm  his  beloved  parent  a  little,  and  she  began 
to  speak  with  more  composure. 

"Mother,-'  continued  Hubert,  'Mie  down 
again  on  your  nice  little  couch  that  I  have 
made  for  you,  and  I  will  pray  to  God  to  make 
you  well,  and  to  comfort  you — for  he  is  the 
God  of  comfort — and  to  bless  you  and  pre- 
serve you  long,  long  to  us.  You  must  not 
talk  of  dying, — and  I  will  beseech  him  to 
bring  us  all  to  meet  father  to-morrow."  An 
incredulous  but  affectionate  smile  passed 
across  his  mother's  face,  while  the  kind  boy 
thus  sought  to  cheer  her:  and  lie  went  on  to 
say,  "  You  and  Gabrielle  shall  ride  on  Benoit, 
and  I  will  walk  by  your  side;  it  cannot  be 
many  leagues  from  La  Flechtre  now, — and 
V  e  shall  all  be  happv  again." 

•'Do  not  speak  of  being  happy,  my  dear, 
L  2 


126 


riEllllE  AND    HIS   FAMILY, 


on  earth,"  said  his  mother; — ''in  heaven  we 
shall  be  happ}', — that  is  our  home  jou  know, 
Hubert, — ^jour  father  will  see  both  his  boys 
there,  you  know." 

"We  shall  have  no  sorrows  there,  mother," 
said  Hubert, — "that  is  our  real  true  home — 
St.  Madelaine-de-Belleville  will  never  be  our 
home  any  more." 

"  Hubert," said  Gabrielle,  "I  do  not  like 
to  hear  you  talk  so  about  heaven j  we  shall  be 
happy  yet  on  earth  when  we  meet  father  again, 
and  Albert,  and  Louise,  and  our  dear  Pastor 
•who  blesses  us." 

"My  dear  children,"  said  Blanche,  "I 
hope  you  will  soon  meet  them  all, — but  I  shall 
never,  never  see  them  any  more." — As  she 
said  this,  she  threw  her  arms  round  both  the 
children,  and  embracing  them,  shed  a  torrent 
of  tears.  Hubert,  afraid  that  his  mother 
would  again  cry  as  long  as  she  had  done  be- 
fore, and  sob,  and  laugh  so  fearfully  amid  her 
tears,  besought  her,  with  the  most  insinuating 
tenderness,  to  try  to  obtain  a  little  rest;  say- 
ing, that  if  she  and  Gabrielle  woukl  lie  down, 
he  would  watch  without,  and  sing  them  a 
hushaby, — ''  Some  of  your  own  favourite 
hymns,  dear  mother."  His  mother  at  last 
consented,  and,  again  embracing  the  children, 
she  blessed  them  both.  In  her  own  simple 
way,  commending  them  both  to  tlie  Christ,  as 
to  their  Saviour,  God,  Father,  elder  Brother, 


PIERRE  AND    HIS    FAMILY.  127 

slie  laid  herself  down  t(»  bleep,  and  Hubert, 
{ overinj;  her  and  Gabriclle  with  all  the  cloaks 
he  coulu  collect,  and  drawing  the  curtain  of 
the  little  tent  closer  around  tliem,  sat  alone 
on  the  outside  by  the  fire,  or  walked  about  to 
prevent  himself  from  sleeping, — singing,  from 
time  to  time,  upon  his  midnight  watch  of  love, 
the  pious  iiymns  of  the  valleys. 

The  following  verses,  as  expressive  of  the 
feelings  of  his  dear  mother,  were  the  first  he 
sang  to  her — and  O !  it  was  sweet  to  hear  this 
little  fearless  boy,  keeping  watch  upon  the 
mighty  brow  of  an  Alpine  mountain,  in  the 
dead  of  night,  and  chaunting  his  sacred  song, 
lor  such  a  sacred  purpose: — 

"  O  Zion,  when  I  think  of  thee, 
I  wish  for  pinions  like  n  dove, 
And  mourn  to  think  that  I  should  be 
So  distant  from  the  place  I  love. 

'•  An  exile  here,  and  far  from  home, 
For  Zion's  sacred  ■walls  I  sigh, 
Thither  the  ransom'd  nations  come, 
And  see  the  Saviour  eye  to  eye. 

"  While  here  I  walk  on  hostile  ground, 
The  few  that  I  can  call  my  friends, 
Are  like  myself,  with  fetters  bound. 
And  weariness  our  steps  attends. 

"  But  yet  we  shall  behold  the  day 
When  Zion's  children  shall  return  ; 
Our  sorrows  then  shall  flee  away, 
And  we  shall  never,  never  mourn. 


128  PIERRE   AXD    HIS   FAMILY. 

'•  The  ho}te  that  such  a  day  will  come, 
Makes  even  the  exile's  portion  sweet ; 
Though  now  we  wander  far  from  home, 
In  Zion  soon  we  all  shall  meet." 

As  Hubert  sang  over  these  verses,  his  voice 
was  sometimes  almost  choked  vi^ith  tears; 
but  as  he  was  afraid,  lest,  if  his  mother  should 
discover  that  he  was  crying,  it  would  distress 
her,  he  just  raised  his  heart  in  secret,  silent 
prayer  to  God,  to  give  him  courage  and 
strength  to  support  all  his  afflictions,  and 
then  he  went  on  chaunting  his  hymns  again. 
The  following  he  had  learned  from  a  book  of 
Martyrology ;  and  he  felt,  while  singing  it,  all 
that  sweet  forgiving  love  and  pity,  which  its 
concluding  words  express,  for  those  who,  in 
other  times,  had  perhaps  driven  the  Wal- 
denses,  like  Hubert  and  his  family,  from  their 
happy  homes: — 

"  Hallelujah,  Lord  our  God, 
Now  our  earthly  path  is  trod ; 
Pass'd  are  now  our  cares  and  fears, 
And  we  quit  this  vale  of  tears. 

"  Hallelujah !  King  of  Kings ! 
Now  our  spirits  spread  their  wings, 
To  the  mansions  of  the  blest, 
To  thy  everlasting  rest. 

"  Hallelujah  !  Lord  of  Lords ! 
Be  our  last  and  dying  words, 
Glory  to  our  God  above, 
To  our  murderers  peace  and  love." 


PIERRE   AND    HIS   FAMILY.  129 

The  cold  was  now  intense;  but  Hubert 
kept  up  an  immense  fire  witli  great  branches 
of  pine  which  sparklet!  and  crackled  in  the 
air,  and  roused  the  sleeping  echoes  from  their 
f Vo/xMi  caverns  to  crackle,  in  their  turn,  with 
the  noise  of  an  hundred  fires.  The  effect  of 
I  lie  blaze  of  fire-liji^ht  in  such  a  spot  as  that 
now  occupied  by  Hubert,  was  not  less  sin- 
L^ular  and  striking,  than  the  startling  sounds 
which  were  heard  on  every  side,  coming  down 
from  the  heights  above,  or  rising  from  the 
tieep  ravines  and  glens  below.  The  gigantic 
forms  of  the  trees  in  the  forest,  the  darkness 
of  those  in  shadow,  contrasted  witli  the  flar- 
ing; red  of  those  nearer  the  tire,  were  strange- 
ly and  wildly  beautiful;  the  drooping  and 
•jjiingy  boughs  of  the  birch-trees,  and  the 
long  needle-like  spines  of  the  fir-trees,  cover- 
ed as  they  were  with  snow  and  icicles,  re- 
flected the  light  as  from  a  thousand  prisms, 
and  reminded  Hubert  of  some  story  he  had 
heard  about  an  enchanted  forest,  whose  trees 
were  lunig  with  lamps  of  diamonds. 

While  Hubert  sat  before  the  lire,  some- 
times musing  on  the  objects  around  him,  and 
sometimes  lifting  up  his  pious  soul  to  tiie  God 
of  the  spirits  of  all  flesh,  he  felt  comforted 
and  peaceful,  except  when  the  thought  of  the 
dear  baby  crossed  his  mind,  and  then  he  was 
sad,  and  then  he  felt  what  a  stroke  his  death 
would  be  to  his  dear  father.     Hubert,  thus 


130  PIEKKE  AXD    HIS    FAMILY. 

keeping  watcli  for  his  dear  mother,  gazed  on 
the  moon  as  she  passed  from  one  part  of  the 
heavens  to  the  other;  and  he  would  sit  and 
look  on  her  lovely  placid  face,  as  he  noted  the 
time  she  took  to  cross  from  one  star  to  ano- 
ther; or  as  he  followed,  with  his  eye,  the  flick- 
ering cloud  that  for  a  moment  left  him  in 
darkness  as  it  came  between  him  and  her  sil- 
ver beams.  By  and  by  the  stars  became 
brighter;  and  one  of  peculiar  beauty  and 
brilliancy  rose  far  away  on  the  eastern  hori- 
zon, as  if  it  had  been  some  knot  of  icicles  just 
lighted  with  a  sunbeam  on  the  mountain's  top. 
As  Hubert  viewed  it  rise  gradually  above  the 
horizon,  and  bend  its  course  towards  the 
south,  he  thought  of  that  "  star  in  the  east" 
which  guided  the  wise  men  to  the  cradle -bed 
of  the  infant  Redeemer,  and  he  sung  to  him- 
self, dear  boy.  the  morning  hymn  of  the  val- 
leys:— 

MORNING  HYMN. 

"  Brightest  and  best  of  the  sons  of  the  morning. 
Dawn  on  our  darltness,  and  lend  us  thine  aid  .' 
Star  of  the  east,  the  horizon  adorning. 
Guide  where  our  infant  Redeemer  is  laid  I 

"Cold  on  his  cradle  the  dew-drops  are  shining. 
Low  lies  his  bed  with  Uie  beasts  of  the  si  all. 
Angels  adore  him  in  slumber  reclining, 
Maker,  and  Monarch,  and  Saviour  of  all. 

"  Say  shall  we  yield  him,  in  costly  devotion, 
Odours  of  Edom,  and  offerings  divine  ; 
Gems  of  the  mountain,  and  pearls  of  the  ocean. 
Myrrh  from  the  forest,  and  gold  from  the  mine  ? 


PIERRK  AND    HIS   FAMILY.  ISl 


"  Vainly  we  ofTer  each  ample  oblation  ; 
Vainly  with  gold  would  his  tavour  secure: 
Richer  by  far  is  ttie  heart's  adoration. 
Dearer  to  God  are  the  prayers  of  the  poor  ! 

"  Brightest  and  best  of  the  sons  of  the  morning, 
Dawn  on  our  darkness,  and  lend  us  thine  aid  ! 
Htar  of  the  east,  the  horizon  adoniinfr. 
Guide  where  our  infant  Redeemer  is  laid  :" 


Thus  the  hours  passed  on  ;  and,  with  no 
itlier  company  than  Benoit,  wlio  nevertheless, 
II  such  a  spot,  and  at  such  a  time,  was  no 
oiitemptible    companion,   Hubert   spent  the 


iii^lit  without  sleeping-,  or,  if  inclined  to  sleep, 
le   rose  and  walked  about.     The  old   mule 

.U'pt  soundly  by  the  side  of  the  blazin*^  pines, 
xcept  now  and  then  when  a  spark  of  tire  fell 
ij)on  his  shaggy  coat,  or  crackled  about  his 
ars,  and  then  he  started  to  siiake  himself,  but  j| 

-oon  lay  down  again.  W 

While  Hubert  sat  thus, — sometimes  patting 

:he  face  of  old  Benoit,  who  looked  wistfully 
11  his  eyes  as  if  he  thought  things  were  not 
ight,  or  else  his  dear  little  master  would  not  be 
here  sitting  alone  all  night, — while  Hubert  sat 
lius,  he  thought  he  heard  some  one  stir  in  the 
cut,  and,  drawing  aside  the  watch-coat  which 
le  had  made  to  answer  the  purpose  of  a  door, 
K'  saw  his  mother,  wlio  had  not  yet  been  to 
leep,  on  her  knees  with  her  hands  raised  to 
leaven,  and  heard  her  praying  l(tr  himself  and 
labrielle.  Hubert  did  not  think  it  proper  to 
i>ten  to  what  his  mother  said,  so  he  walked 


132  PIERRE  AND   HIS   FAMILY- 

round  to  the  other  side  of  the  fire ;  but  when 
she  lay  down  again,  he  went  forward  to  the 
tent  door  to  draw  the  coat  closer,  and  looking 
in,  he  perceived  that  she  had  composed  her- 
self to  sleep,  and  had  drawn  to  its  accustomed 
place  on  her  bosom,  her  lifeless  infant. — Hu- 
bert wept  to  see  how  doatinglj  his  mother  still 
embraced  the  frozen  corpse;  but  remembering 
his  father's  grief,  at  the  death  of  poor  Antoine, 
he  well  knew  his  mother  felt  double  sorrow 
for  darling  baby,  because  his  father  would  so 
grieve  about  him.  Alas!  poor  Hubert,  thou 
little  knewest,  dear  boy,  that  thy  blessed  Ei- 
ther and  the  happy  babe,  were  perhaps  at  that 
moment  where  even  thy  mother's  sorrows 
could  not  pain  them. 

Hubert  was  thinking  such  thoughts  as  these, 
when,  overpowered  witli  fatigue,  sorrow,  and 
watching,  he  fell  asleep  under  the  shelter  of 
old  Benoit's  back,  and  did  not  awake  till  long 
after  sunrise,  when  Gabrielle  heaping  fresh 
logs  upon  the  fire,  their  crackling  noise  re- 
nn'nded  him  where  he  was ;  and,  with  a  sigh, 
this  noble  son  of  many  a  martyred  ancestor 
arose  to  the  consciousness  of  lite  and  misery. 

The  beautiful  serenity  of  the  sky,  and  the 
bright  and  cheering  sunshine  which  shed  a 
dazzling  brilliancy  on  the  scene  around  them, 
revived  the  spirits  of  Hubert  and  Gabrielle, 
worn  out  as  they  were  with  witnessing  the 
anguish  of  their  dear  mother ;  with  the  death 


I 


PIERRK   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  133 

of  tlieir  little  brotlier,  and  the  now  long  con- 
tinued absence  of  tlieir  father.  Hubert  asked 
Gabrielle  how  long  she  had  been  awake,  and 
if  her  mother  was  still  asleep:  and  hearing 
that  she  was,  he  was  glad,  he  said,  for  sleep 
would  make  her  better.'  Then,  when  he  be- 
pan  to  think  that  Gabriel^le  had  been  up  and 
. I  wake  so  many  hours,  and  had  no  food  to  eat 
Ijiit  a  small  piece  of  bread,  his  heart  was  sad 
wirliin  him.  But  he  took  out  the  Bible  which 
iiis  father  had  given  him  to  carry  carefully 
a\vav  from  the  wreck  of  every  thing  else  that 
would  be  lost  at  St.  Madelaine,  and  he  read  a 
chapter,  and  then  prayed  to  Ciod.  This  chap- 
ter gave  him  comfort,  and  he  called  Gabrielle 
near  to  him,  and  read  her  a  few  verses  from  it, 
such  as  the  following: — "And  ye  shall  be 
hated  of  all  men  for  my  name's  sake;  but  he 
thatendureth  to  the  end  shall  be  saved.  But 
when  they  persecute  you  in  this  city,  flee  ye 
into  another. — Are  not  two  sparrows  sold  for 
a  farthing?  and  one  of  them  shall  not  fall  on 
the  ground  without  your  Father.  Fear  ye  not, 
therefore,  ye  are  of  more  value  than  many 
sparrows.  Whosoever  thei*efore  shall  confess 
me  before  men,  him  will  1  confess  also  before 
my  Father  which  is  in  heaven.  But  whosoever 
shall  deny  me  before  men,  him  will  I  also 
deny  before  my  Father  which  is  in  heaven." 
*'  We  are  of  more  value  than  many  spar- 
rows," said  Hubert,  "  and  I  am  sure  many  a 
M 


I 


134  PIERRE    AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

time  in  winter  I  have  fed  the  sparrows  with 
crumbs  at  De  Belleville;  because  1  thought 
that,  in  serving  them,  when  they  came  hop- 
ping to  the  lattice,  I  was  just  fulfilling  the 
word  and  will  of  God,  who  brought  them  to 
me  to  be  fed,  to  show  me  he  would  not  have 
even  his  little  birds  forgotten.  O  surely, 
surely  Gabrielle,  the  Lord  will,  by  some  way 
or  other,  though  we  do  not  know  how — surely 
he  will  appear  for  our  deliverance  this  day." 

Gabrielle  began  to  cry,  poor  girl;  her  heart 
was  sad,  and  she  was  faint  for  hunger,  for 
she  would  not  even  eat  her  allowance,  and  she 
could  not  bear  to  think  that  her  mother's  sleep 
should  last  so  long — and  she  trembled  to  tell 
Hubert  all  the  fears  with  which  she  was  op- 
pressed. At  last,  "  Hubert,"  said  she,  "what 
may  be  the  hour  of  the  day?  I  cannot  tell  this 
mountain's  shadow,  it  is  not  like  our  own 
mountain." 

Hubert  looked  at  the  shadow,  but  neither 
could  he  tell  the  hour,  because  he  did  not 
know  the  place  where  they  were ;  but  he  ob- 
served that  the  sun  was  far  away  to  the  south 
side  of  the  range  they  occupietl,  and  that  it 
must  be  later  in  the  day  than  he  tliought.  "  It 
is  time  we  had  begun  our  march,"  said  he; 
**  if  we  stay  here  much  longer,  we  shall  not 
be  able  to  go  two  leagues  before  night.  Call 
mother,  dear  Gabrielle."  **  Call  her,  dear 
Hubert,  yourself,"  replied  his  sister  hesitat- 


i'lERRE    AND    HIS    FAMILY.  135 

ni^\y<,  ''and  I  will  go  ami  put  some  more 
wood  on  the  fire." 

Hubert  drew  aside  the  cloak  which  formed 
the  entry  to  the  little  booth  or  tent,  and  when 
he  saw  his  mother  lying  sleeping,  though  very 
pale,  yet  with  a  most  beautiful  expression  on 
iier  face,  such  as  he  never  remembered  to  have 
>een  on  it  before,  he  did  not  awake  her,  but 
looking  round  to  Gabrielle,  who  stood  trem- 
bling to  know  the  result  of  the  undrawing  of 
the  curtain,  he  said, — with  a  smile  of  joy  and 
delight,  and  in  a  whispered  voice, — "O  Ga- 
brielle! mother's  happy  now  I  Only  come,  and 
look  how  lovely  she  lies;  and  dear  Henri  has 
fallen  from  her  arms — we  might  lift  him  away 
now  perhaps,  but  that  would  make  her  angry 
— it  might  at  least  displease  her." 

Gabrielle  did  not  know  what  to  say.  It  was 
that  very  beauty,  stillness,  and  calm  loveli- 
ness of  her  mother's  face,  at  which  she  had 
looked  so  often  while  Hubert  was  asleep,  that 
had  distressed  her;  and  always  seeing  lier  in 
the  same  posture,  with  the  same  inexpressible 
sweetness  of  features,  she  did  not  know  what 
to  think.  She  well  knew  the  cftect  which 
sleeping  in  the  night  air  had  produced  on 
many  of  the  unhappy  exiles — she  therefore 
trembled  at  she  knew  not  what.  To  escape 
from  her  secret  fears,  she,  therefore,  said  to 
h«T  brother, 

•'  Call  her,  dear  Hubert — the  sun  gets  fast 


136  PIERRE   AXD    HI3   FAMILY. 

away — the  shadows  are  all  lengthening — we 
shall  not  have  gone  a  quarter  of  a  league  be- 
fore the  moon  be  up." 

Hubert  accordingly  called — "Mother!  mo- 
ther! you  have  had  a  nice  long  sleep;  I  would 
not  willingly  wake  you — but  1  must,  dear 
mother!" 

His  mother  did  not  answer.  The  dear  boy- 
went  nearer,  and  stooping  down,  he  took  her 
hand  in  his,  and,  feeling  that  it  was  very  cold, 
he  rubbed  it  with  his  own,  and  chafed  it,  say- 
ing again,  "Mother!  dear  mother!  we  must 
go!" 

Hubert  had  scarcely  uttered  these  few 
words  when  a  strange  sensation  ran  through 
his  frame,  communicated,  as  in  one  instant,  by 
the  feeling  of  the  hand  he  held  in  his.  He 
dropped  it  hastily,  as  if  he  had  touched  some- 
thing he  ought  not  to  have  touched.  As  it 
fell  from  his  grasp,  so  it  lay — the  fingers  still 
compressed,  just  as  they  were  when  he 
breathed  on  them  to  warm  them ; — moreover 
his  mother  continued  still  asleep.  He  went 
nearer  her  face — he  raised  her  head,  half  on 
his  arm  and  half  on  his  knees — he  kissed  her 
eyes  and  cheek,  saying,  ''Mother!  my  be- 
loved mother!  O!  answer  me! — Will  you  not 
speak  to  your  dear  Hubert,  my  own  blessed 
mother!"  The  countenance  of  Blanche  re- 
tained the  same  fixedness  of  sweet  and  calm 
expression — unutterably  sweet!     Hubert  re- 


PIERRE  AND    HIS    FAMILY.  137 

placed  her  haiul  on  tiic  lowly  couch — looked 
at  her  once  more — once  more  reiterated  "Mo- 
ther! mother!" — then  uttered  sucli  a  scream 
of  terror  and  an^^uish  as  brought  Gabriel  le 
within  tlie  tent,  and  started  the  mountain 
echoes;  but  which, — tliough  the  voice  ot  her 
beloved  boy, — awoke  no  more,  to  conscious- 
ness, poor  Blanche  de  Beauvoisin ' 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  What  is't  that  thou  dost  see  ?" 

"  A  peasant  of  the  Alps — 

Thy  humble  virtues,  hospitable  home, 

And  spirit  patient,  pious,  kind,  and  free  : 

Thy  days  of  health,  and  nights  of  sleep — thy  hopes 

Of  cheerful  old  age,  and  a  quiet  grave, 

Mayhap  \vith  garland  over  its  green  turf, 

And  thy  grandchildren's  love  for  epitaph  : 

This  do  I  see," 

""  How  dreadful  !*'  you  no  doubt  exclaim,  on 
reading  the  affecting  circumstances  detailed 
at  the  conclusion  of  the  last  chapter.  How 
dreadful  indeed!  Poor  Blanche, — wearied, 
exhausted,  alarmed  for  her  children's  safety, 
and  her  own — grieved  bevond  consolation  for 
the  loss  of  her  dear  babv.  and  quite  over- 
M  2 


138  PIERRE    AXD    HIS   FAMILY. 

whelmed  with  the  horrors  of  her  situation, — 
sunk  to  sleep  towards  the  dawn  of  that  fatal 
morning  which  arose  upon  the  unsheltered 
head  of  her  boj-sentrj,  who  had  guarded  her 
little  tent  all  the  night — This  sleep  proved  to 
her  the  sleep  of  death.  The  intense  cold  of 
the  atmosphere  from  which  she  was  so  par- 
tially protected,  acting  upon  a  frame  that  had 
previously  suffered  under  so  much  fatigue  and 
excitement,  made  her  an  easy  prey  to  the 
King  of  Terrors.  But  the  Lord  giveth  none 
account  of  any  of  his  matters — his  way  is  in 
the  sea,  and  his  path  in  the  deep  waters — and 
his  footsteps  are  not  known ;  and  if  any  of  us 
are  disposed  to  say,  "Can  such  things  be, 
without  exciting  feelings  of  terror  and  won- 
der.^" 0!  let  us  remember,  while  we  won- 
der, also — to  adore ! 

"How  dreadful,"  my  dear  children,  you 
exclaim,  "  the  fate  of  poor  Hubert  and  Ga- 
brielle ! — How  desolate !  how  destitute !"  Ah ! 
you  would  perhaps  think  it  sad  to  be  left  at 
home  alone  only  tor  one  day !  But  what  would 
you  think  of  being  left  alone  in  the  wide 
world,  my  children,  without  any  home,  or  any 
father  or  mother  to  take  care  of  you  ?  Alas !  I 
cannot  tell  you  all  the  sorrow  and  anguish  that 
wrung  the  hearts  of  these  two  orphans,  when 
they  discovered  to  their  utter  despair,  that 
the  sleep  of  their  beloved  mother  was  the  sleep 


PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  139 

of  death — and  a  sleep  from  which  she  would 
never  again  awake  in  this  world  ! 

These  children  made  no  eftbrt.  for  a  time, 
to  comfort  one  another.  They  made  no  effort 
to  sooth  or  to  diminish  the  transports  of  grief 
hv  which  thej  were  both  alike  overwhelmed. 
Gabrielle  wept,  till  her  laughing  eyes, — as  her 
father  used  to  call  them, — were  almost  lost 
under  their  blistered  eyelids;  and  when  her 
tears  ceased  to  flow,  dear  child  !  the  sobbing 
at  her  heart  continued  in  such  painful  and 
convulsive  throbs  as  shook  her  shivering  frame 
to  pieces.  Poor  Hubert,  whose  filial  love  and 
devoted  tenderness  for  his  mother  exceeded 
every  other  feeling  of  his  kind  and  gracious 
heart,  betrayed,  in  his  manner,  less  of  that 
outward  despair  and  desolation  of  the  whole 
soul  by  which  his  aftectionate  sister  was  op- 
pressed. When  capable  of  thinking,  for  a 
moment,  of  any  thing  but  the  loss  of  his  dear, 
dear  mother,  and  the  grief  it  would  occasion 
to  his  father,  he  began  to  pray  to  God.  He 
knew  that  **  trouble  did  not  spring  out  of  the 
dust,  nor  sorrow  from  the  ground."  In  all 
their  afflictions  this  youthful  Christian  traced 
the  hand  of  God ;  and  knowing  that  he  doth 
according  to  his  will  in  the  armies  of  heaven 
and  among  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth — that 
his  sovereignty  is  as  much  a  part  of  his  deity 
as  his  omnipotence  or  his  truth — Hubert  "laid 
liis  hand  upon  his  mouth,  and  his  mouth  in  the 


140  PIERRE  AND   His   FAMILY. 

dust,"  sajang,  "It  is  tlie  Lord,  let  him  do 
what  seemeth  him  gocid.  Shall  not  the  Judge 
of  all  the  earth  do  right?" 

In  all  this,  Hubert  never  once,  even  in 
thought,  accused  the  persecutor.    No, 

"  To  our  murderers  peace  and  love," 

was  the  sentiment  he  had  been  taught  to  che- 
rish, and  which  he  strove  to  maintain.  For 
the  Catholic  he  felt  a  sentiment  of  pity  far  too 
deep  to  admit  of  wrath ;  and  tliough,  in  the 
language  of  a  martyr  of  old,  he  might  have 
said — 

"  I  am  too  wretched  to  teel  wrath  ; 
There  is  no  violence  in  a  broken  spirit." 

Yet  peace  toward  this  enemy  was  the  habitual 
feeling  of  his  mind:  and  though  there  were 
few  people  on  earth, — nay,  none, — to  whom, 
had  it  been  in  his  power,  Hubert  would  not 
have  done  a  kind  service ;  yet,  to  a  Catholic, 
he  would  have  esteemed  it  a  peculiar  privi- 
lege to  do  good,  because  from  infancy,  it  had 
been  pressed  upon  his  heart  that  they  were 
the  people  for  whom  he  was  always  to  pray, 
and  whom  he  was  always  to  bless;  and  he 
seldom  ever  thought  of  them  without  remem- 
bering, that,  among  the  very  first  Scriptures 
his  grandfather  had  taught  him,  were  the  fol- 
lowmg;  ''I  say  unto  you,  love  your  enemies; 


PIERRE    AND    HIS    FAMILY.  141 

ble>s  them  that  curse  you.  and  pray  for  them 
that  despiteful ly  hate  you,  and  persecute  you, 
that  ye  may  be  the  children  of  your  Father, 
which  is  in  heaven:  for  he  niaketh  his  sun  to 
)  ise  on  tlie  evil  and  on  the  good,  and  sendeth 
rain  on  the  just  and  on  the  unjust."  '•  Bless 
tlicm  which  persecute  you;  bless  and  curse 
not."  "If  thine  enemy  hunger,  feed  him;  if 
he  thirst,  give  him  drink."  O!  let  us,  my 
(liildren,  cherish  the  same  kind  and  heavenly 
sentiments  towards  our  dear  Catholic  brethren 
and  fellow  citizens  of  our  ou  n  day,  as  Hubert 
did  in  his.  Let  us  bear  them  on  our  hearts  in 
prayer;  and,  where  we  cannot  prevail  on  them 
to  hear,  or  to  accept  the  Bible,  let  them  see  in 
each  of  us,  a  living  epistle  of  that  blessed 
book,  written  not  with  ink, but  with  the  Spirit 
ot  the  living  God;  not  in  tables  of  stone,  but 
in  fleshly  tables  of  the  heart! 

The  affliction  which  seemed  now  to  deepen 
all  the  anguish  already  sustained  by  Hubert 
and  his  sister,  was  the  sight  of  the  unburied 
corpses  of  their  beloved  mother  and  her  most 
beloved  baby;  and  the  thought  which  each 
felt,  but  neither  dared  express,  of  the  impos- 
sibility of  their  being  able,  either  to  consign 
them  to  the  earth,  and  not  to  the  snow%  as 
their  mother  had  implored,  or  to  carry  them 
away, — wrung  their  soul  w  ith  anguish. 

Hubert,  afraid  that  Gabrielle  would  per- 
i  live  the  pain   that  thi»  thought  occasioned 


4 


142  PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

him,  changed  tlie  subject  as  it  were,  and  hast- 
ily said,  "  Perhaps  it  was  not  so  much  the 
cold,  and  the  snow,  and  the  weariness,  that 
killed  our  dear  mother,  as  the  baby's  death 
that  broke  her  heart!" 

"No,  no!"  said  Gabrielle,  who  was  not  of 
so  gentle  or  holy  a  spirit  as  Hubert;  "it  was 
the  Catholic  that  chased  us  from  our  cottage 
— made  us  lose  our  way  in  the  mountains, 
and"— «^  Hush!"  said  Hubert;  "thy  blessed 
mother  would  not  have  said  so."  "But," 
said  Gabrielle,  recovering  from  her  resent- 
ment, for  she  also  was  a  pious  child,  though 
of  strong  feelings  and  ardent  attachment  to 
her  parents,  especially  to  her  father,  on  whom 
she  doated;  "  But,"  said  she,.  ''  it  is  better  to 
be  here,  Hubert — even  here,"  and  she  looked 
at  Blanche  and  the  infant,  and  her  eyes  ran 
down  with  tears,  as  she  spoke — ''  Better  to 
be  here,  than  to  deny  the  Lord  that  bought  us 
with  his  own  precious  blood !  Pastor,  father, 
and  all,  would  rather  see  us  here,  destitute 
and  forsaken,  tjian  that  we  should  forget  or 
deny  our  divine  Saviour."  This  she  said 
with  a  peculiar  sweetness  of  fervour  and  love, 
repeating  the  words — "Our  divine  Saviour!" 

Hubert  raised  liis  eyes  to  heaven,  and, 
wringing  his  hands,  seemed  engaged  in  silent 
prayer.  At  last  he  ejaculated,  **0  thou,  in 
whom  the  fatherless  and  the  helpless  find 
•Tiercy,  in  thee  will  we  trust !    Only  show  us 


PIERRE   A\n    HIS    FAMILY.  143 

vliere  we  may  bury  our  dead.  and.  by  thy 
ji  ace,  we  will  never  deny  tliee,  nor  'forget 
(iit'e.     0  Ibrsake  us  not  !'* 

VVhile  they  were  thus  engaged  in  weeping, 
.11  praying  to  God.  or  in  speaking  to  eadi 
I)  her,  Gabrielle,  every  now  and  then  bursting 
Mto  a  fresh  flood  of  sorrow,  as  her  eye  occa- 
lofially  fell  on  the  beautiful  countenance  of 
It  I  beloved  mother, — old  Benoit,  the  mule, 
V  as  lieard  neighing  and  snorting,  and  making 
I  strange  noise  with  his  feet,  at  a  little  dis- 
aiue  from  the  tent.  Hubert,  hearing  the 
iiiis«?  repeated,  accompanied  with  the  sound 
.1  voices,  rose  from  his  knees,  and,  going 
lilt,  he  discovered,  at  a  little  distance,  down 
)!ie  of  the  avenues  of  the  forest,  an  old  pea- 
ant  and  a  youth  endeavouring  to  drag  away 
Benoit  by  his  bridle,  who,  with  all  the  deter- 
niued  obstinacy  of  his  nature,  refused  to  go 
.\  ith  them;  but  who,  with  much  seeming  ad- 
lii'ss,  appeared  desirous  of  leading  them 
icarer  to  the  children :  for,  whenever  the 
peasant  turned  towards  that  part  of  the  forest 
'.  liere  the  tent  was  placed,  Benoit  followed 
ikc  a  lamb;  but  whenever  an  attempt  was 
iiadc  to  lead  him  any  other  way,  he  set  his 
TM't  firmly  in  the  snow,  and  persisted  inmain- 
iiiiing  his  ground. 

V\  hen  the  old  peasant  perceived  Hubert, 
ii'  started  with  surprise  to  find  any  one  in  so 
tiiiote  a  part  of  the  forest.     Hubert  iinmedi- 


144  PIERRE   AND    HIS   FAMILY. 

atelj  addressed  him; — in  a  few  words  told 
him  his  sad  story,  and,  taking  him  by  the 
hand,  led  him  up  to  the  little  tent,  under 
whose  shelter  all  that  was  dear — and  0 !  how 
very  dear  was  that  all ! — all  that  was  dear  to 
him  on  earth  of  his  mother  remained. 

The  old  peasant,  in  whose  heart  the  kind- 
ness, not  only  of  nature,  but  of  grace,  had 
place,  was  deeply  aftected  by  Hubert's  story: 
ibr  he  was  himself  a  man  of  like  sorrows  with 
the  exiles,  having  been  necessitated,  many 
years  before,  to  take  refuge,  in  that  very  fo- 
rest, from  the  scourge  of  persecution — where, 
having  escaped  the  storm,  he  had  taken  shel- 
ter with  his  wife  and  children;  and  having 
approved  himself  to  the  amiable  possessor  of 
the  wide  domain,  he  had  been  a  peasant  on 
her  grounds  ever  since  ;  and  his  children  had 
been  servants,  both  in  her  hall  and  in  her 
nursery. 

When  Hubert  drew  aside  the  folds  of  the 
soldier's  cloak  that  hung  across  the  door  of 
the  tenl,  the  sunbeams, — full  of  all  that  daz- 
zling brilliancy  peculiar  to  light  only  when 
passing  through  the  fine  ethereal  medium  of  a 
clear,  frosty,  atmosphere,-r-darted  into  the 
tent,  and  the  rays  passing  partly  through  the 
coloured  drapery  of  the  cloak,  fell  with  an 
exquisite  illusion  of  life,  on  the  lovely,  lowly 
form  of  the  humble  Blanche,  who,  in  her  little 
cap  and  cloak,  red  stays,  and  blue  petticoats, 


PIERRE   A\'D    HIS    FAMILY.  145 

presented  all  the  appearance  «f  life  without 
its  vitality.  Tiie  baby  lay  upon  her  out- 
stretched arm,  its  own  weight  having  disen- 
gaged it  from  its  place  on  her  bosom.  Ga- 
brielle  sat  at  their  teet,  looking  alternately  at 
each,  but  most  at  her  mother.  When  Hubert 
drew  aside  the  curtain,  the  light  flashed  pain- 
fully on  her  swollen  and  tearful  eyelids,  and 
she  put  up  her  hand  to  shade  them  from  the 

sun. Such  was  the  aftecting  scene  which 

presented  itself  to  the  eye  of  the  peasant  of 
the  Alps,  as  he  looked  within  the  tent  door. 
Need  I  say,  my  children,  it  was  one  that 
wrung  his  heart .^ 

The  old  man  did  not  content  himself  with 
merely  shedding  tears  Avith  these  afflicted 
children:  Turning  to  the  youth  who  accom- 
panied him,  and  who  was  his  grandson,  he 
gave  him  certain  orders,  which  he  directed 
him  to  execute  with  despatch.  In  a  short 
time,  the  youth  returned,  bringing  with  him 
some  persons  from  the  hamlet,  who,  with  all 
kindness,  decency,  and  silence,  prepared  to 
convey  the  remains  of  the  happy  to  the  pea- 
sant's cottage,  before  paying  to  them  those 
rites  which  every  mortal  man  expects  himself 
to  receive,  and  therefore  owes  to  his  fellow. 

The  children    followed,   hand   in  hand. — 

There  seemed  to  be  some  new  bond,  or  tie, 

sprunu;  up  between  them,  such  as  th(>y  had 

never   felt   before.     Gubrielle    clung    to  her 

N 


146  PIERRE    AND    HIS   FAMILY. 

brother,  and  would  not  let  him  go,  even  for 
a  mon:jent.  The  old  man  could  not  look  on 
them  without  tears.  He  brought  them  to  his 
cottage — presented  them  to  his  wife,  who 
received  them  with  the  most  affectionate  hos- 
pitality. Both  the  orplians  were  touched  by 
this  unexpected  kindness.  But  Gabrielie 
sunk  under  her  distresses,  and,  for  many 
weeks,  was  confined  to  bed.  The  remains  of 
the  relatives,  after  a  certain  number  of  days,  ' 
were  consigned  to  their  mother  earth,  under 
an  oak  in  the  forest — and  one  would  have 
thought  the  joy  that  Hubert  felt,  in  having 
every  thing  done  decently  in  regard  to  the 
sepulture  of  his  motlier,  almost  relieved  him, 
of  part  at  least,  of  the  load  of  sorrow  he  felt 
for  her  loss;  and  he  could  not  sufficiently 
express  his  gratitude  to  God,  and  his  thank- 
fulness to  the  pious  peasants  of  La  Cime,  that 
her  "  bones"  lay  not  ''  scattered  on  the  Al- 
pine mountains  cold." 

The  illness  of  Gabrielie  continued  for  many 
weeks  to  the  great  distress  of  her  brother, 
who  began  almost  to  indulge  in  despair,  think- 
ing there  was  to  be  no  end  to  their  troubles. 
By  degrees,  however,  as  the  spring  advanced, 
Gabrielie  recovered,  and  by  the  care  and  at- 
tention, as  well  as  skill,  ol  her  rustic  physi- 
cian and  nurse;  and,  with  the  blessing  of 
God,  she  began  to  get  better.  But  her  con- 
valescence was  long  and  tedious;  and   not- 


1 


PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  1,47 

withstanding  old  Marco  knew  every  plant  of 
the  mountains. — and  his  wife  knew  all  their 
properties,  and  how  to  mingle  their  various 
ingredients,  so  as  to  have  a  •'  imlm  for  every 
wound," — yet  her  recovery  took  more  time 
than  her  sickness. 

The  kind  service  of  the  peasant  and  his 
family  to  the  orphan  children,  was,  in  the  esti- 
mation of  Marco,  repaid  a  thousand  fold  by 
the  visit  of  Hubert  and  Gabrielle.  As  I  al- 
ready hinted,  Marco  himself  was  a  brother 
in  the  faith,  and  hope,  and  bonds,  and  perse- 
cution of  the  Waldenses.  To  hear  of  the 
churches  of  the  valleys,  was  to  him  like  life 
from  the  dead;  and,  while  he  heard, and  wept 
over  the  recital  of  their  afflictions,  he  was,  at 
the  same  time,  comforted  in  conversing  with 
fiuch  a  boy  as  Hubert,  whose  knowleclge  of 
the  Bible,  whose  learning  and  education,  from 
his  being  the  grandson  and  nephew  of  a  pastor, 
■were  so  superior  to  that  of  his  illiterate  host, 
that,  for  hours  together,  old  Marco  held  him 
to  the  delightful  task  of  repeating  v.hole  chap- 
ters from  the  Bible,  not  only  to  him  and  his 
wife,  but  to  his  children  and  grandchildren, 
and  to  the  other  peasants  and  goatherds  of  the 
hamlet.  But,  though  Hubert,  out  of  gratitude 
foil  kindness  received,  gladly,  so  far  as  any 
thing  could  make  him  glad,  sat  by  the  blazino; 
fire,  and  wore  out  the  crackling  billets  which 
JaquelV.  heaped  u])on  the  hearth  to  cheer  their 


^jj*" 


148  PIERRE   AND   HIS    FAMILY. 

winter's  night — repeating  to  these  unlettered 
men  the  words  of  inspiration; — jct  his  heart 
was  over  the  mountains;  and  his  impatience 
to  reach  La  Flechere,  where,  alas !  tlie  liope 
that  cheers,  even  while  it  deceives,  led  him  to 
expect  to  meet  his  father,  made  almost  every 
moment  of  delay  a  pain  too  great  for  him  to 
bear.  But,  till  Gabrielle  was  better,  it  was 
impossible  to  depart  from  the  shelter  which 
the  hospitable  cottagers  afforded  tiiem;  and 
Hubert,  conscious  of  all  that  generous  love 
which  had  been  shown  to  him,  and  which  he 
never  could  repay,  endeavoured  at  least  to 
express  his  sense  of  it — by  going  out  to  work 
with  his  host  every  morning — assisting  him  in 
his  rural  labours;  while  Gabrielle,  recovering 
from  her  illness  and  despair,  though  too  un- 
well to  venture  abroad,  busied  herself  in  aid- 
ing the  domestic  labours  of  her  kind  hostess, 
or,  with  her  needle,  repaired  her  humble 
wardrobe,  or  assisted  in  any  employment  with 
her  daughters,  in  which  she  could  be  useful  in 
the  cottage. 

The  history  of  the  orphan  boy  and  girl  had 
spread  from  the  cottage  to  the  kitchen  of  the 
Castle,  and  from  the  kitchen,  the  interesting 
story  had  reached  the  drawing-room ;  and  old 
Marco, — whose  kindness  to  the  poor  children 
had  not  been  forgotten  by  those  domestics 
who  repeated  the  story  to  their  superiors, — 
had  received  orders,  that,  when  tlie  unhappy 


ri£lti?E   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  149 

fugitives  were  able  to  proceed  to  the  place  of 
their  destination,  La  Flechere,  he  should  bring 
them  to  rest  one  day  at  Jeanvilliers, — of  which 
castle,  the  lady,  though  a  catholic,  was  kind, 
and  abhorred  alike  the  spirit  of  her  infatuated 
confraternity,  and  the  persecution  of  which 
they  were  guilty.  The  old  Countess,  also, 
had  two  orphan  grandchildren,  whom  she 
loved  exceedingly,  and  their  desire  to  see  the 
two  young  people  at  Marco's  cottage,  whose 
mother  and  baby  brother  had  died  m  conse- 
quence of  the  persecution,  was  great.  And 
they  wondered  what  kind  of  a  religion  it  could 
be,  which  one  set  of  people  thought  so  good 
that  they  were  willing  to  die  for  it;  and  which 
another  thought  so  bad,  as  to  be  ready  to  kill 
those  who  professed  it. 

When  Gabrielle  was  quite  restored  to 
health,  old  Marco  and  his  hospitable  family  at 
last  consented  to  let  their  young  guests  depart. 
Their  desire  of  rejoining,  as  they  hoped,  their 
only  surviving  parent,  was,  as  may  easily 
be  imagined,  great  beyond  expression, — and 
much  as  the  good  peasants  of  the  Alps  would 
have  wished  to  detain  the  children  till  it  could 
be  ascertained  where  that  beloved  parent 
was,  they  nevertheless  felt  that  they  might  per- 
haps appear  cruel,  in  asking  them  to  prolong 
their  stay,  now  that  the  beautiful  season  of  the 
veai'.  and  the  state  of  the  roads,  admitted  of 
N  2 


150  PIERRE  AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

their  travelling,  not  only  with  ease,  but  de- 
light. 

Accordingly,  the  day  ot  their  departure  ar- 
rived, when,  after  a  st&y  of  nearly  three 
months,  in  which  time  the  Lord  had  caused 
the  pious  peasants  to  treat  these  orphans  as 
their  own  children, — and  in  which,  through 
the  blessing  of  God  upon  the  reading  of  Hu- 
bert's Bible,  many  youthful  individuals  of  the 
hamlet  were  "  asking  the  way  to  Zion  with 
their  faces  thitherward." — Hubert  and  Ga- 
brielle  took  leave  of  Marco's  wife,  Jaquette, 
and  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  hospitable  cabins 
of  La  Cime.  Hubert  was  sorry  he  had  no 
money  to  give  to  Marco  for  all  his  kindness 
to  them.  He  had  indeed  a  gold  ducat,  which 
he  had  received  one  day  from  young  Raymond, 
the  Count's  son,  for  a  little  osier  basket  he 
had  made  for  him  as  a  present.  The  boy 
loved  Raymond,  and  never  would  part  with 
the  piece  of  money,  which  he  kept  for  his  sake, 
and  he  had  made  a  hole  in  it,  and  tied  a  piece 
of  riband  through  it.  But  his  gratitude  to 
Marco,  for  his  kindness  to  the  dead,  was 
stronger  at  tliis  moment  than  his  love  to  Ray- 
mond for  the  kindness  of  his  house  to  the  liv- 
ing; and,  taking  out  the  ducat  from  his 
pocket,  he  cut  the  string  by  which  he  had, 
sometimes  in  sport,  worn  it  round  his  neck, 
and  as  he  was  about  to  go  away,  he  gave  it 
to  the  peasant.     But,  while   old  Marco  v.as 


i 


^ 


PIERRE  AND    HIS    FAMILY.  151 

} (leased  with  tliis  expression  of  the  boy's 
platitude,  he  would  not  accept  the  ducat. 
"No,"  said  he;  **  you  have  received  little 
more  from  me  than  a  cup  of  cold  water,  but, 
little  as  that  is,  it  has  been  given  in  the  name 
of  a  disciple;  and  truly  1  tiiink  1  have  enter- 
tained angels  unawares."  The  old  hostess, 
then,  blessed  the  children,  and.  accompanied 
by  Marco,  they  departed  from  La  Cime,  Ga- 
brielle  seated  on  their  own  faithful,  trusty 
Benoit,  and  Hubert  walking  by  her  side. 

As  they  slowly  proceeded,  something  like 
hope  began  to  dawn  upon  the  mind  of  Hubert, 
and  he  felt  more  cheerful,  either  from  the  cir- 
cumstance of  mere  change  of  place,  or  be- 
cause he  imagined  he  was  in  the  way  to  meet 
with  his  father.  After  the  travellers  came 
out  of  the  forest,  through  which  they  passed 
Avith  a  strange  feeling  of  horror,  sorrow,  and 
gratitude, — the  scenes  that  opened  upon  them 
were  so  beautiful  and  so  magnificent,  that 
even  they,  poor  children,  with  little  taste  ei- 
ther for  the  sublime  or  the  lovely,  felt  an  un- 
common delight  in  looking  around  them.  On 
one  side,  the  roadwhicii  they  were  traversing 
seemed  supported  by  a  species  of  natural  pil- 
lars and  parapet,  so  that  they  could  look 
down  with  safety  into  the  deep  abyss  below; 
at  other  times  the  road  was  liardly  passable, 
even  for  the  sure-footed  Benoit,  from  the 
steepness  and  rapidity  of  the  descent;  now, 


152  PIERRE    AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

it  was  smooth  and  level,  and,  again,  nearly 
blocked  up  by  enormous  masses  of  rocks, 
which  the  weight  or  melting  of  the  snows  had 
precipitated  from  above.  As  they  continued 
their  route,  the  country  became  more  open, 
presenting  a  greater  variety  of  objects;  the 
plains  in  the  distance,  seen  through  the  open- 
ings of  the  mountains,  appeared  rich  in  culti- 
vation, and  covered  with  flocks  and  herds  of 
cattle.  The  snows,  which  had  for  some  time 
disappeared  from  the  valleys,  were  also  melt- 
ing on  the  mountains;  and  Gabrielle  called  to 
Hubert  to  gather  her  some  of  those  flovvers 
which  Marco  said  he  had  seen  blooming  to- 
day, in  the  place  where,  perhaps  yesterday, 
the  J  had  been  covered  with  snow, — such  a? 
the  crocus  and  soldanella;  and  as  they  de 
scended  into  the  valley,  where  the  castle  of 
Jeanvilliers  was  situated,  they  perceived  the 
rhododendron,  crowned  with  its  purple  flow- 
ers, which  here  exhale  an  odour  as  sweet  as 
they  are  beautiful,  while  at  its  foot  grew  the 
auricula,  the  saxifrage,  the  polygala,  and  many 
other  plants;  and  Marco  said,  lie  had  some- 
times seen  it  amid  forests  of  pine  and  birch, 
growing  on  the  very  edges  of  the  distant 
glaciers. 

As  the  travellers  continued  their  descent 
into  the  vale,  they  passed  near  a  beautiful 
cascade  of  no  great  volume  of  water,  but  of 
the  most  limpid    purity:    Its    perpendicular 


F 


PIERRK    AND    IIIS    FAMILY.  153 

Iieight  might  not  be  above  a  hundred  feet, 
perhaps;  but,  as  they  travelled  ah)ng  beneath 
it,  the  rays  of  the  sun,  falling  at  tiiat  moment 
upon  the  spray,  formed  the  softest  circle  of 
coloured  light  wliich  could  possibly  be  ima- 
gined. And  as  they  paused  to  look  at  it,  old 
Marco,  with  pious  feeling,  and  much  sympa- 
thy for  the  peculiarly  afflicting  circun»stances 
in  which  the  dear  children  were  placed,  re- 
minded them,  for  their  consolation,  of  the 
romises  of  God  to  Noah,  when  he  first  be- 
leld  that  beautiful  thing  on  Ararat,  telling 
them  that  the  ''  Rainbow  of  the  Covenant" 
was  not  more  beautiful  than  the  God  of  the 
Covenant  was  true — and  bidding  them,  ^*  trust 
in  him  for  ever,  for  in  the  Lord  Jehovah  is 
everlasting  strength." 

The  children  and  their  guide  continued  on 
their  way,  till  at  last  they  descried  the  noble 
and  magnificent  castle  of  Jeanvilliers,  with 
its  lofty  turrets — whose  outline  looked  sub- 
lime, as  seen  against  the  evening  sky,  and  its 
hi^h -arched  windows  were  bright  as  gold, 
sinning  in  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  As  the 
party  came  nearer,  they  lost  sight  of  the 
house,  and  crossing  a  narrow-pointed  bridge, 
over  a  deep  ravine,  tiiey  entered  an  avenue 
of  beeches,  whose  dry  rustling  leaves,  now 
discarded  for  a  greener  foliage,  littered  all  tiie 
gi-ound,  and  rustled  amon^;  their  feet,  as  Be- 
noit  and  the  peasant,  with  their  iron  heels, 


154  PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

trod  over  them.  When  thej  arrived  at  the 
end  of  this  avenue,  a  lofty  gateway  presented 
itself  to  the  astonished  view  of  the  young 
travellers,  who,  having  never  before  seen  any 
thing  grander  than  the  chateau  of  Count  Ray- 
mond, had  imagined  it  could  not  be  excelled 
by  any  edifice  in  the  world.  Two  griffins,  the 
crest  of  Jeanvilliers,  carved  in  stone,  raised 
their  immense  wings  from  a  lofty  pedestal  on 
each  side  of  the  gate.  The  breadth  of  wing, 
— the  granite  feathers, — the  lion's  paws,  and 
eyes  of  fire, — were  all  so  strange,  and  so  ill 
comported  with  each  other,  that  Hubert,  who, 
though  happily  a  novice  in  fabulous  history, 
M'as,  for  his  years,  a  pretty  good  naturalist, 
could  not  imagine  to  what  class  of  animals  or 
genus  of  birds  he  could  assign  the  creatures. 
Marco  could  neither  assist  him  in  the  arrange- 
ment, nor  solve  his  doubts;  so  they  passed  on 
- — and,  going  round  to  the  left  or  the  great 
entrance,  they  stopped  at  a  little  gate,  that 
opened  into  the  apartments  of  the  domestics, 
where  Marco  desired  his  youthful  charge  to 
-wait  till  he  should  inquire  for  the  house- 
keeper. 

The  housekeeper  was  engaged;  but  a  per- 
son, who  acted  under  her^  came  out  to  receive 
them.  A  lad  took  the  mule  round  to  the  sta- 
bles, and  Marco  and  the  children,  tired  and 
Imngry,  went  into  the  hall,  where  they  were 
kindly  greeted   by  the  servants,   and   where 


PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  155 

tliej  received  refreshments  from  tin*  young 
woman  who  had  come  out  to  muet  them  at  the 
gate. 

Some  time  after  this,  Madame  La  Beaume, 
the  housekeeper,  being  informed  of  their  ar- 
rival, came  into  the  hall.  She  expressed  great 
pleasure  at  seeing  old  Marco,  who  was  a  fa- 
vourite with  most  of  the  household,  and  she 
received  the  dear  children  with  much  kind- 
ness. She  did  not  choose  to  ask  them  many 
questions  before  the  servants;  and,  observing 
that  they  were  weary,  and  that  it  was  too  late 
an  hour  now  for  them  to  expect  to  see  the 
Countess  that  evening,  she  proposed  they 
should  go  to  bed,  and  in  the  morning,  when 
they  had  seen  lier  lady,  and  she  had  received 
her  orders,  they  should  be  sent  onward  in 
safety  to  La  Flechere.  The  old  peasant  was 
obliged  to  return  on  his  way  home,  early  in 
the  morrow;  he  said  he  would  therefore  take 
leave  of  the  children  that  night.  Their  part- 
ing was  exceedingly  affecting,  for  ^Larco  had 
been  a  father  to  them  since  the  day  they  had 
lost  their  dear  mother.  The  old  peasant 
wiped  the  tears  from  his  weather-beaten 
cheek,  as  the  children,  caressing  him,  tried, 
in  vain,  to  say — farewell !  Gabrielle  embraced 
him,  and  hid  her  face  in  his  rough  doublet,  as 
the  old  man  with  uianv  a  blessing,  confided 
them  to  the  care  of  Him  in  whom  the  fither- 
'ess  findeth  mercv;  and  who  l^,  in  an  espe- 


fc 


Ji^ 


156  PIERRE   AND    HIS   FAMILY. 

cial  manner,  the  God  of  tlie  helpless  and  the 
orphan.  He  then  went  aside  and  spoke  to 
Madame  La  Beaume  for  some  time,  wlio  gave 
him  every  assurance  lie  could  desire,  in  regard 
to  the  care  that  should  be  taken  of  the  chil- 
dren— telling  him  that  the  kind  dispositions 
of  the  Countess  were  too  well  known  to  per- 
mit him  to  dread  any  thing  in  regard  to  tiieir 
safety,  even  if  the  young  Count's  tutor  were 
at  home,  which  he  was  not.  Some  other 
things  were  added,  in  a  whisper, — after  which 
Marco  again  embraced  and  blessed  the  chil- 
dren, who  left  the  hall,  following  I^a  Beaume. 

The  apartments  to  which  Hubert  and  Ga- 
brielle  were  conducted  by  the  good  house- 
keeper, were  at  a  great  distance  from  that 
part  of  the  house  where  they  had  entered. 
They  followed  her  up  a  number  of  stairs,  and 
along  two  or  three  galleries,  lighted  up  with 
beautiful  large  lights,  making  the  w^hole  house 
as  bright  as  day.  La  Beaume  then  showed 
them  where  they  were  to  sleep,  namely,  Ga- 
brielle  in  a  little  bed,  close  to  her  own;  and 
Hubert  in  a  closet  which  opened  through  her 
room: — so  that  she  said  she  would  keep  her 
word  to  Marco,  and  take  good  care  of  them. 

When  Hubert  and  Gabrielle  separated  for 
the  night,  the  former  to  go  into  his  little  curi- 
ous antique  closet,  and  Gabrielle  to  her  nice 
bed,  close  to  the  housekeeper''s,  in  the  outer 
chamber — they  were  no  sooner  apart,  and  had 


PIRRTIK    AND    HIS    FAMILY.  157 

began  to  pray  to  their  Father  in  heaven,  each 
kneeling  down  beside  their  own  bed,  than 
they  began  bitterly  to  weep,  and  to  deplore 
their  destitute  condition.  Both  gave  vent  to 
the  anguish  of  their  hearts,  in  shedding  those 
tears,  which,  except  while  parting  with  Marco, 
each  had,  with  strong  selt-denial,  and  out  of 
tenderness  for  the  feeling  of  the  other,  sup- 
pressed during  the  day.  And  though,  no 
doubt,  they  were  comforted  and  supported  in 
answer  to  their  own  prayers,  and  to  the  prayer 
which  each  offered  for  the  other;  yet  still 
they  were  human  creatures,  suffering  under 
no  common  afflictions,  and  their  hearts  were 
pierced  with  the  tenderest  sorrow  wliich  any 
child  on  earth  can  feel.  Ah  !  give  thanks  to 
God,  you  that  are  so  blessed,  that  you  have 
still  a  father  and  mother!  None  can  know 
the  value  of  a  mother's  love  till  they  have 
lost  it.  Who  knows  the  yearnings  of  her 
heart  over  the  objects  of  her  tenderest  affec- 
tion?— And  where, — or  in  whom,  will  the 
child  ever  meet  again  with  the  same  gentle- 
ness— the  same  forbearance?  Who  will  again 
behold  her  with  the  same  complacency  and 
delight — smile  when  she  smiles,  and  weep 
when  she  weeps? — Ah!  she  can  have  but  one 
mother:  Let  lier  never  hope  to  experience 
such  a  love  again  on  earth.  It  is  no  wonder, 
then,  that  these  two  orphan  children  this  Jiight 
wept  till  thev  fell  asleep,  with  thoughts  of 
O 


158  PIERRE   AND    HIS   FAMILY. 

their  mother,  whose  loss,  tliough  in  part  for- 
gotten, was  this  night,  on  account  of  their 
leaving  the  spot  wliere  she  was  laid,  and 
parting  with  Marco  their  friend,  and  coming 
into  the  house  of  strangers,  and  among  the 
people  whose  priests  and  monks  had  been 
the  cause  of  all  their  afflictions,  brought  in  a 
peculiar  manner,  fresh  before  them.  Poor 
Hubert,  though  accustomed  to  lay  a  greater 
restraint  upon  his  feelings  than  Gabriel le, 
was  this  nignt  not  less  attected  than  her.  The 
form  of  tlie  leafless  oak  in  the  forest,  that  bent 
its  naked  arms  over  the  little  mound  of  earth 
beneath,  where  lay  the  cold  remains  of  his 
beloved  mother  and  her  sweet  baby,  presented 
itself  perpetually  to  the  mind  of  Hubert,  as, 
in  his  restless  and  unrefreshing  sleep,  he 
tossed  to  and  fro  until  the  morning.  Some- 
times he  thought  he  saw  the  tree  with  its 
naked  boughs  and  branches  waving  and  groan- 
ing in  the  winter  blast : — Then  he  tiiought  he 
saw  the  tree  covered  with  budding  leaves  and 
the  fullest  foliage.  A  dove  had  built  her 
nest  in  the  midst  of  it,  and  there  she  reared 
and  fed  her  young.  She  went  out  to  seek 
food  for  her  callow  offspring,  but  when  she 
returned  her  feathers  were  all  ruffled — a  flagg- 
ing wing,  and  drops  of  blood  upon  her  pur- 
ple breast,  showed  that  she  had  been  wounded. 
Her  plaintive  cries  seemed  to  afflict  her  un- 
fledged   brood    beside    her.     '*  Poor    birds," 


flERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  159 

thought  Hubert,  •'  what  will  you  do  without 
your  mother;  her  wing  droops,  she  cannot 
inow  fly  about  to  bring  you  food  to  eat."  As 
Hubert  seemed  thus  to  speak  to  himself  in 
his  dream,  another  bird,  but  of  a  far  more 
beautiful  plumage  than  the  dove,  alighted 
among  the  branches,  with  a  cluster  of  ivy  ber- 
ries in  his  mouth,  which  he  dropt  into  the 
nest  and  the  little  birds  began  to  eat.  Tiien 
Hubert,  addressing  himself,  in  sleep,  to  the 
mother-bird,  and  saying, — "  You  see  the  little 
ones  will  always  have  somebody  to  take  care 
of  them,  though  you  cannot,'' — put  out  his 
hand  to  pat  her  lovely  head  and  glossy  back, 
when  she,  frightened  and  fluttering,  again  ut- 
tered her  exquisitely  plaintive  cry,  and  the 
dreaming  boy  awoke. 

AVhen  Hubert  opened  his  eyes,  and  saw 
the  sun  shining  brightly  into  his  chamber,  and 
heard  the  '•  swallow  twittering''  from  its 
shed,  where,  all  the  morning,  it  had  been  busy 
building  its  nest,  he  was  led,  by  the  natural 
elasticity  of  youth,  to  entertain  more  cheerful 
thoughts  than  he  had  done  the  preceding  even- 
ing, and  could  not  help  expecting,  so  apt  are 
we  to  hope  for  what  we  wish,  that,  like  the 
little  birds  in  his  dream,  though  he  had  lost 
the  protection  and  tender  aftection  of  one  pa- 
rent, he  should,  ere  long,  enjoy  the  love  and 
compassionate  care  of  another;  and  he  blessed 
his  Father  in  heaven  for  such  a  hope. 


160  PIERRE   AND    HIS   FAMIL^ 

After  the  chidren  were  up  and  dressed, 
Gabrielle  went  into  Hubert's  closet  to  hear 
him  read  a  portion  of  his  Testament;  for  this 
was  the  practice  of  these  good  children  from 
their  earliest  youth,  and  ought  to  be  that  of 
every  pious  child,  never  to  go  out  of  the  apart- 
ment in  which  they  have  slept,  till  they  have 
engaged  in  prayer  to  God,  and  in  reading  his 
holy  word. 

When  these  pious  exercises  were  over,  and 
the  children  had  talked  about  their  father  for 
some  time,  and  expressed  to  each  other  their 
hope  of  seeing  him,  and  had  wondered  whether 
Count  Philippe,  tlie  lady's  grandson,  would  be 
like  the  son  of  Count  de  Raymond, — and 
whether  old  Marco  would  ever  forget  them, — 
and  many  other  similar  conjectures ;  they 
thought  they  would  like  to  go  down  stairs: 
but  as  they  did  not  know  how  to  find  their 
way  again  to  the  hall  where  they  had  been  the 
night  before,  they  amused  themselves  in  the 
room  where  they  were  till  the  housekeeper 
should  call  them. 

It  was  a  curious  round  tower  in  which  Hu- 
bert had  slept,  with  strangely  shaped  win 
dows,  one  of  which  opened  like  a  door,  and 
by  a  few  steps,  led  down  to  a  sort  of  balcony 
that  seemed  to  run  along  the  whole  of  that 
end  of  the  building.  Hubert  did  not  venture 
to  go  out,  or  even  to  open  the  door;  but  he 
and  Gabrielle  looked  through  the  casement. 


PlERKE  AND    HIS    FAMILY.  l6t 

and  br'held,  in  the  valley,  a  beautiful  stream, 
whose  waters  sparkled  in  the  sunbeam: — 
beyond  the  stream,  a  wood,  whose  trees  were 
in  their  first  sweet  leaf,  and  whose  outline,  in 
the  slanting  light  of  the  morning  sun,  was 
tinged  with  that  lovely  green  that  the  eye  de- 
lights so  much  to  dwell  upon.  Above  the 
wood  appeared  a  pretty  hill  covered  M'ith 
herds  of  cattle;  and.  far  beyond  it,  and  less- 
ening away  to  the  verge  of  the  western  hori- 
zon, instead  of  the  white  range  of  the  Alps, 
ft  long,  flat  distance,  that  looked  like  two  pale 
fines  drawn  across  the  sky,  terminated  the 
view. 

While  these  objects  engaged  the  attention 
of  the  children,  and  each  tried  to  conjecture 
which  side  of  the  valley  would  lead  towards 
La  Flechere,  the  housekeeper  herself  came 
up  to  the  chamber  for  them;  and,  instead  of 
taking  them  into  the  hall  among  the  servants, 
she  brought  them  into  her  own  room.  There 
she  set  before  them,  for  breakfast,  some  nice 
white  bread,  cakes  of  figs,  and  bunches  of 
raisins,  with  milk  from  the  cow,  and  Neuf- 
chattel  cheese;  telling  them  that,  when  they 
had  finished  their  breakfast,  she  would  pre- 
sent them  to  her  lady  the  Countess,  and  to 
the  young  Count,  who  was  impatient  to  see 
Hubert  and  his  sister. 

Hubert,  though  little  more  than  a  peasant 
b-iv,  I  may  sav, — except,  indeed,  his  educa- 
0  2^ 


162  PIERRE   AND    HIS   FAMILY. 

tion,  which  was  very  superior,  should  lead  us 
to  call  him  better, — Hubert,  though  a  humble 
boy,  possessed  a  peculiar  gracefulness  of 
speech  and  manner,  which  was  not  only  be- 
coming but  insinuating.  He  bowed  in  reply 
to  all  tnis  kindness  of  La  Beaume,  and  politely 
thanked  her,  in  behalf  of  himself  and  sister, 
for  her  goodness  and  condescension,  and  par- 
ticularly for  the  honour  she  proposed  to  confer 
on  them  in  bringing  them  into  the  presence  of 
the  young  Count  and  his  grandmother.  When 
he  had  said  this,  they  were  about  to  begin 
breakfast;  but,  before  seating  themselves  in 
the  curious  high  raised  chairs  which  were  set 
for  them  at  table,  Hubert  lifted  his  right  hand, 
and,  bending  forward,  implored  the  blessing 
of  God  on  what  they  were  about  to  partake 
of,  and  gave  thanks  for  all  his  mercies.  When 
he  had  finished,  they  sat  down  to  table ;  and 
the  housekeeper,  who,  perhaps,  had  never 
seen  one  pray  thus  before,  or  had  perhaps  ob- 
served something  peculiar  in  the  manner  of 
the  boy,  inquired  if  what  he  had  just  done  was 
a  practice  conmion  to  the  Waldenses,  and 
asKed  some  other  questions  about  it.  Hubert 
told  her  it  was  the  sacred  duty  of  all  to  ac- 
knowledge the  goodness  of  God  in  his  gifts, 
and  explained  to  her  the  reason  why  the 
Waldenses  gave  tlianks  before  eating,  saying 
they  were  taught  so  to  do  by  the  example  of 
Christ  and  his  disciples,  as  well  as  by  t!ic  ex- 


PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  163 

jness  precept, — '*  Whether  ye  eat  or  drink  or 
whatsoever  ye  do,  do  all  to  the  J^lory  ot  God ;" 
and,  '*  Every  creature  of  God  is  ^oud,  and 
nothino;  to  be  refused  if  it  be  received  with 
thanksgiving, — for  it  is  sanctified  by  the  word 
of  God  and  prayer.'' 

Tlie  good  La  Beaunie  liked  to  hear  the  boy 
talk.  When  I  say  good,  I  do  not  use  it  in  a 
religious  sense;  1  mean  benevolent.  For  La 
Beaume,  though  professing  the  Catholic  faith, 
had  nevertheless,  so  far  as  her  light  would  go, 
no  love  for  its  works  of  darkness.  The  whole 
household  of  the  amiable  Countess  leaned, 
both  in  mind  and  deed,  to  the  side  of  mercy; 
and  not  only  abhorred  the  cruelty  which  they 
understood  was  practised  against  the  poor 
Waldenses,  but  had  openly  expressed  their 
pity  for  them,  though  these  two  children  were 
the  first  of  these  people  they  had  ventured  to 
protect  since  the  commencement  of  the  last 
persecution;  but  tiie  youth  of  the  two  Beau- 
voisins  appeared  to  the  Countess  sufficient 
excuse  for  her  exercising  hospitality  towards 
tliem;  and,  whatever  the  consequences  mi^ht 
be,  she  was  prepared  to  abide  them.  'Inis 
kind  feeling  of  the  Countess  toward  the  per- 
secuted Waldenses,  arose  from  a  sentiment 
not  only  of  natural  benevolence  in  iier,  but  of 
hereditary  sympatliy  for  this  afllicted  people. 
And  so  stroni:;ly  had  some  of  her  ancestors, 
titough  of  Spanish  extraction,  and  who  might 


«^ 


164  PIERRE  AXD   HIS   FAMILY. 

therebj!^  have  been  expected  to  have  been  even 
more  bigoted  than  other  Catholics — so  strong- 
ly had  some  of  her  family  sympathized  with 
these  persecuted  people  in  the  earlier  periods 
of  their  history',  that,  after  a  battle  fouglit  near 
the  Garonne  in  Gascony,  two  of  her  ances- 
tors, professing  the  papal  faith,  who  were 
found  among  the  slain,  had,  together  with 
other  noble  Spaniards,  also  of  the  Catholic  re- 
ligion, been  fighting  on  the  side  of  the  perse- 
cuted Waldenses!* 

After  breakfast,  La  Beaume  took  the  chil- 
dren into  the  interior  of  the  castle,  which  was 
peculiarly  appropriated  to  its  noble  owners, 
and  which  was  at  some  distance  from  that 
wing  of  the  building  occupied  by  her  and  the 
servants.  The  children  gazed  with  wonder 
on  what  they  saw,  as  they  went  along  a  wide 
and  extensive  gallery,  one  side  of  which  was 
hung  with  pictures  of  knights  and  ladies,  nuns 
and  priests,  the  ancestors  of  the  Count,  or  re- 
lations of  his  family.  The  other  side  was 
lighted  by  a  range  of  high  arched  windows, 
each  as  large  as  the  great  window  in  the  little 
church  of  St.  Madelaine.  At  the  end  of  the 
gallery  they  came  to  a  staircase,  whose  curi- 
ous balustrades  and  rich  carpeting  attracted 
the  notice  of  the  children.  La  Beaume  de- 
sired them  to  follow  her  up  stairs,  and,  put- 
Sec  Note  VI. 


PIERRK    AND    HIS    FAMILY.  165 

tin^  them  into  a  little  anti-room,  bade  them 
wait  till  she  should  return.  She  then  called 
a  servant,  who,  by  her  directions,  entered 
through  a  foldinj;^  door  opposite,  which  letl  into 
the  sah)on,  and  who,  returning  a  moment 
after,  took  the  children  into  the  same  room, 
and  repeating  their  names  aloud,  withdrew. 

When  Hubert  ventured  to  litt  up  his  eyes 
from  the  ground,  after  making  his  peasant's 
bow,  which,  even  if  it  had  wanted  grace, 
which  it  did  not,  wanted  none  of  that  respect 
and  reverence  which  he  had  early  been  taught 
both  to  feel  and  to  pay  to  his  superiors: — 
when  Hubert  lifted  his  eyes  from  the  j^round, 
he  saw  an  elderly  lady  of  great  dignity  and 
loveliness,  seated  by  a  table  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  on  whicli  were  some  books  and 
work,  and  over  ^vhich  depended  a  lamp  of 
curious  workmanship,  composed  of  gold  and 
crystal,  which  hung  suspended  by  a  chain 
from  the  talons  of  an  eagle  tliat  was  carved  in 
the  centre  of  the  roof.  Behind  the  lady  was 
an  antique  mirror  that  reached  almost  to  the 
ceiling,  and  which,  doublin<^  the  length  of  an 
apartment,  already  of  magnilicent  dimensions, 
presented,  in  long  perspective,  the  figures  of 
Hubert  and  Gabrielle  making  their  humble 
entry  at  the  door  of  the  saloon.  At  the  far- 
ther end  of  the  apartment,  and  half  within  a 
recess  formed  by  a  window,  a  young  girl  about 
the  iige  of  Gabrielle,  was  sitting  on  a  low  seat 


166 


PIERRE   AxVD   HIS    FAMILY. 


or  cushion  with  a  guitar  on  her  lap,  over  which 
she  was  carelessly  drawing  her  finger;  now 
and  then  touching  a  string,  but  not  playing. 
Beside  her,  with  his  back  towards  the  door, 
stood  an  elegant  boy,  or  rather  indeed  a  youth, 
at  least  a  boy  about  the  age  of  Hubert,  or  a 
little  younger,  who  was  dressed  in  a  rich  suit 
of  clothes,  in  the  Spanish  fashion,  with  a  ruff 
round  his  neck,  and  beside  him  lay  a  velvet 
hat,  with  a  fine  feather  in  it,  which  he  had 
just  thrown  off.  He  seemed  as  much  older 
than  the  beautiful  girl  his  sister,  as  he  was 
perhaps  younger  than  Hubert, — that  is,  about 
a  year  or  so.  This  boy  was  Philippe,  Count 
of  Jeanvilliers;  his  father  had  been  killed  in 
a  battle  when  he  was  a  child,  and  his  mother 
was  so  distressed  at  the  death  of  her  husband, 
that  she  died  almost  immediately  after  him,  in 
giving  birth  to  the  lady  Isabella.  Philippe 
appeared  just  to  have  entered  the  room  by  the 
open  sash,  which  led  out  upon  a  balcony,  from 
which  a  flight  of  steps  descended  into  a  curi- 
ous garden  wherein  were  many  rare  things  to 
be  seen;  as  images  cut  out  of  cypress,  juni- 
per, and  yew-trees — fountains  oi  pure  water 
running  out  of  the  mouths  of  lions  and  dol- 
phins— a  fair  mount  in  the  middle  of  the  lawn, 
with  ascents  in  circles,  having  bulwarks  and 
embossments.  Philippe,  as  he  stood  beside 
his  sister,  appeared  to  be  explaining  to  her 
some  lesson  he  had  been  learning  in  falconry; 


r   j£tL 


PIERRE   AND    »IIS    FAMILY. 


i6r% 


for  he  lield  a  hooded  hawk  on  one  liand,  while, 
with  the  other,  he  pointed  to  the  leaves  of*  a 
book  that  lay  open  on  a  little  table  before 
him,  from  which  he  was  reading  aloud  to  iier 
these  words: — 

*' Having  done  this,  ride  out  in  a  fair  morn- 
ing into  some  field  unincumbered  with  trees 
or  wood,  with  your  hawk  on  your  first:  then 
whistle  softly  to  provoke  her  to  fly;  unhood 
her,  and  let  her  fly  with  her  head  to  the  wind; 
after  she  has  flown  two  or  three  turns,  then 
lure  her  with  your  voice,  and" — 

"Philippe!"  said  the  old  lady:  The  youth 
paused  as  his  grandmother  spoke  to  him,  and, 
turning  round,  he  observed  Hubert  and  Ga- 
brielle — "Philippe,"  repeated  the  Countess, 
"■1  do  not  like  you  to  bring  your  hawk  into 
this  room;  let  Renaud  take  her  to  her  perch." 

Renaud,  who  was  pouring  some  water  on 
two  beautiful  plants,  whose  flowers  and  fo- 
liage filled  one  entire  window  of  the  apart- 
ment, went  up  to  his  youn«j  master,  ana  re- 
ceiving the  bird  from  his  liand,  carried  her 
out  upon  the  balcony,  and  from  thence  into 
the  garden. 

The  Countess  then  directed  Hubert  to 
come  near  to  where  she  sat.  that  she  miglit 
converse  with  him.  Gabriel le,  who  liad  al- 
ready twice  repeated  her  simple  act  of  obei- 
sance to  this  lireat  laily,  and  who  was  alike 
afraid  to  n'maiii  alone  wheie  she  stood,  or  to 


168 


PIERRE  AND   HIS   FAMILY. 


advance,  as  Mell  as  Hubert,  at  last  followed 
him  up  the  room,  but  at  a  little  distance,  again 
making  her  timid  curtsj,  and  fixing  her  eyes 
upon  the  ground.  When  Philippe  and  Isabella 
perceived  the  young  strangers,  they  also  ap- 
proached the  table  where  their  grandmotlier 
was  seated,  and,  standing  at  the  back  of  her 
chair,  seemed  to  look  with  much  apparent  in- 
terest at  tiie  poor  boy  and  girl  whose  mother, 
with  her  little  baby,  had  perished  of  hunger 
and  cold  in  the  snow. 

The  old  lady  felt  a  little  uneasy  as  she  con- 
versed with  Hubert  and  Gabrielle.  Her  na- 
tural humanity  was  great;  but  tlie  fear  of 
ecclesiastical  censure, — though  that  censure 
was  more  contemned  by  her  than  by  most  of 
the  Catholics, — gave  to  her  a  kind  of  timid 
dread,  or  superstitious  sort  of  feeling,  of  she 
knew  not  what.  She  rallied  her  spirits,  how- 
ever, and  could  not  help  receiving  strength 
from  the  recollection  of  such  precepts  of 
mercy  as  had  reached  her  knowledge  from  the 
closed  leaves  of  that  sacred  Book,  which,  as 
one  of  the  laity,  she  durst  not  read  herself. 
But,  as  her  priest  had  often  inculcated  on  her 
mind  the  duty  of  charity,  she  thought  she  could 
not  be  to  blame  in  sheltering,  for  a  night  or 
two,  these  poor,  helpless  orphans,  and  then 
sending  them  on  their  way. 

Hubert,  tliei'efore,  encouraged  by  her  sweet 
voice    and     kind     manner,    related    to    the 


PIERRE  AXD  HIS  FAMILY.  169 

Countess  the  whole  history  of  tlieir  afflic- 
tions, from  the  moinent  when  tlie  edict  of  the 
;rovernor  was  proclaimed  in  the  valleys,  to 
the  moment  in  which  he  then  stood  before 
her.  The  boy  had  wept  at  his  own  recital, 
a,nd  once  or  twice,  from  excess  of  grief,  had 
made  a  momentary  pause,  in  the  course  of 
his  affecting  story;  wliile  poor  Gabrielle. — 
who,  if  nothing  else  had  afiiicted  her,  would 
have  wept  because  Hubert  was  weeping, — 
afraid  to  speak  or  look  up  in  such  august  com- 
pany, covered  her  face  with  the  corner  of  her 
peasant's  apron,  and  thereby  concealed  alike 
her  timidity  and  her  tears.  The  young  and 
generous  Philippe  betrayed  much  emotion  as 
Hubert  described  the  awful  conflagrations  in 
the  valleys — the  sufferings  of  the  exiles  in  the 
mountains — and,  above  all,  the  cruelties  prac- 
tised by  the  monks  in  the  villages,  as  detailed 
by  the  people  who  accompanied  the  courier. 
At  last  he  exclaimed,  with  a  noble  indigna- 
tion— "  If  this  be  my  religion,  I  am  ashamed 
of  it.  I  would  like  a  religion  that  would 
protect  the  Waldenses,  and  every  injured 
person ;  and  not  one  that  would  oppress  any 
of  them." 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  the  Countess,  "you 
must  not  speak  of  matters  too  high  for  you  or 
me  to  un<lerstand; — we  must  be  silent." 

'*But,*"  said  Philippe,  addiessing  himself 
to  Hubert,  *'  when  vou  are  a  man.  will  vou 
P 


170  PIERRE  AND   HIS   FAMILY. 

not  try  to  avenge  yourself  on  jour  enemies?" 
"No,"  said  Hubert: — "No,  Sir;  vengeance 
does  not  belong  to  us!  '  Vengeance  is  mine, 
saith  the  Lord.'"  "  What!"  said  the  C\)unt, 
'*are  you  not  taught  to  hate  the  Catholic — 
do  not  your  pastors  teach  you  so?"  "No," 
replied  Hubert;  "our  pastors  only  teach  us 
to  avoid  their  errors,  and  to  pray  foi-  tlieir 
conversion.  We  are  taught  to  bless  tliem  that 
curse  us;  to  do  good  to  them  that  hate  us; 
and  to  pray  for  them  that  despitefully  use  us 
and  persecute  us." 

The  old  lady  was  aftected  at  once  by  the 
simplicity  and  sublimity  of  this  reply.  Sure- 
ly, thought  she,  that  must  be  a  pure  faith,  and 
gentle,  and  amiable,  that  teacheth  so  sweet  a 
morality  as  this:  W^hile  she  spoke,  she  raised 
her  eyes  to  a  picture  that  hung  against  the 
wall,  and  which,  perhaps,  might  be  that  of 
some  saint:  The  expression  of  her  counte- 
nance, as  she  did  so,  was  strange  and  contra- 
dictory, between  a  smile  and  a  sigh:  The 
smile  passed  away  in  a  moment,  but  the  soft- 
ness returned;  and  she  raised  her  handker- 
chief to  her  face. 

After  a  while  she  said  to  Hubert,  '*  Your 
desire,  then,  is  to  proceed  to  La  Flechere  to 
rejoin  your  father  and  the  family  of  your  uncle 
the  pastor,  who  you  believe  are  there;  but 
how  can  vou  be  assured  of  that?  or  liow  can  I 


PIERRE  AND    ttIS    FAMILY.  171 

permit  you  to  continue  a  journey  which  may 
end  in  disappointment?" 

Alas!  the  Countess  had  much  reason  to 
fear  that  the  refugees  at  La  Flechere  liad 
met  with  too  little  kindness:  report, however, 
exaggerates  every  thing — it  might  not  be  so. 
She  therefore,  after  some  further  conversation, 
determined  that  the  poor  children  should  not 
proceed  to  the  place  of  rendezvous,  till  she 
had  made  inquiry  whether  or  not  their  rela- 
tives had  ever  arrived  there ;  or  whether,  hav- 
ing done  so,  they  still  remained  there.  "Tlie 
children,"  she  said,  ''  had  been  brought,  at 
her  own  desire,  from  the  protection  of  faithful 
Marco,  who  would  have  cherished  and  de- 
fended tliem  while  he  had  life ;  she,  therefore, 
could  not  consent  to  their  taking  a  step  that 
might  expose  them  to  peril  in  such  circum- 
stances; but,  as  her  steward  was  going  to  La 
Flechere,  on  business,  in  a  few  days,  she 
would  direct  him  to  make  such  inquiries  as 
would  lead  to  the  information  she  wanted. 
And  in  the  mean  while,"  she  added,  with  infi- 
nite condescension,  *•  in  the  mean  while,  my 
dear  children,  you  will  remain  under  my  pro- 
tection till  he  return." 

Hubert  and  Gabrielle  made  their  simple 
and  low  obeisance  to  the  lady  and  her  chil- 
dren, as  she  said  this,  and  were  about  to  re- 
tire, when  the  Countess,  wishing  to  entertain 
both   tliem  ami   her  grandchililrcu,  saici,  ihat  • 


172  PIERRE   AND   HIS   FAMILY. 

Philippe  might  take  Hubert  to  see  his  hawks 
and  hounds;  and  tliat  Isabella  would  allow 
Gabrielleto  assist  her  at  the  loom. 

You  smile,  my  dear  children,  to  hear  of  a 
noble  lady,  like  the  sister  of  Jeanvilliers,  en- 
gaging in  the  humble  "  labours  of  the  loom." 
But  it  was  the  fashion,  in  those  days,  for  fe- 
males of  the  highest  rank,  like  the  princesses 
of  eastern  story,  to  be  taught  the  arts  of  em- 
broidery, of  weaving  tapestry,  and  of  "nee- 
dle-work sublime." 

'  Tapestry  richly  wrought, 
And  woven  close,  or  needle-work  sublime, — 
Where  you  might  see  the  piony  spread  wide, 
The  full-blown  rose,  the  shepherd  and  his  Iciss, 
Lap-dog  and  lambkin  with  black  staring  eyes, 
And  parrots  with  twin  cherries  in  their  beak." 

-Philippe   and   his   young  companion 


had  not  been  long  together,  before  the  former 
perceived  that  Hubert  cared  very  little  about 
either  hounds  or  hawks,  so  he  asked  him  if 
he  would  like  Renaud  to  be  sent  for,  and  they 
would  play  a  game  at  tennis.^  or  would  he 
like  to  go  and  see  his  Spanish  jennet? — or 
what  would  he  like?  Hubert  said  he  was  at 
Philippe's  service  to  do,  or  go  where  he 
pleased;  but  that  he  knew  nothing  about 
either  tennis-balls,  or  Spanish  jennets,  and 
asked  what  kind  of  things  they  were?  The 
young  Count  laughed  good-naturedly  at  the 


PIERRE    AND   HIS    FAMILY.  173 

simplicity  of  this  humble  boy,  and  then  said — 
*'  Come,  I  know  what  you  would  like  best — 
books!  Come  then,  I  will  show  you  my 
books."  This  pleased  Hubert  very  much, 
for  he  delighted  in  books;  and  though  his 
noble  host  would  rather  have  played  a  game 
at  tennis,  or  flown  a  hawk,  or  rode  his  Spanish 
jennet,  than  turned  over  the  leaves  of  musty 
books  and  parchments;  yet  he  had  so  m.ucli 
kindness  of  nature,  as  well  as  true  politeness, 
that  it  gave  him  more  pleasure  to  gratify  his 
lowly  companion  than  to  follow  his  own 
sport. 

Hubert's  delight,  in  being  brought  into  the 
library  of  the  castle,  was  extreme.  He  had 
never  seen  so  many  books  before;  and  hardly 
imagined  there  were  so  many  in  any  one 
house  in  the  world.  A  great  part  of  them 
indeed  were  manuscripts;  for,  though  the  art 
of  printing  had  been  know^n  at  that  time  for 
about  two  hundred  years,  yet  books  were 
scarce  and  valuable,  and  accessible  only  to 
the  rich.  The  Count  took  down  some  superb 
missals  from  the  shelves  and  showed  them  to 
Hubert.  They  were  beautifully  written,  and 
emblazoned  with  exquisite  illuminations  of  the 
purest  and  most  brilliant  colours.  These 
missals  were  esteemed  the  most  valuable  arti- 
cles in  the  library,  from  having  been  in  tiie 
possession  of  the  family  for  a  great  many 
3  ears,  and  from  iiaving  been  used  bv  son»e  of 
P  2 


174  PIERRE  AND   HIS   FAMILY. 

the  most  illustrious  persons,  either  of  Phi- 
lippe's own  house,  or  that  of  his  grandmo- 
ther. He  also  showed  Hubert  some  brevia- 
ries, and  explained  to  him  that  they  contained 
the  daily  service  performed  by  the  clergy, 
composed  of  "  matins,  lauds,  first,  third,  sixth, 
and  ninth  vespers,"  &c.  Hubert  asked  per- 
mission to  look  over  one  or  two  books,  which 
he  saw  there,  upon  the  subject  of  the  Catholic 
religion,  of  which  he  had  often  heard  his  uncle 
the  Pastor  speak.  The  Count  said  he  would 
order  them  to  be  carried  to  La  Beaume's 
room,  where  he  might  read  them  at  his  lei- 
sure. Among  the  gilt  letter  and  black  letter 
titles  that  marked  the  subjects  of  each  volume, 
Hubert  looked  in  vain  for  a  Bible.  Alas! 
though  Philippe  had  heard  of  such  a  book,  he 
declared  he  never  had  seen  one. 

The  heart  of  Hubert  yearned  over  the 
young  nobleman  as  he  said  this.  Ah  !  thought 
Hubert,  though  I  have  no  inheritance  in  this 
world,  no,  not  so  much  as  to  set  my  foot  on^ 
I  am  yet  richer  than  this  noble  boy — for  noble 
he  truly  is.  In  Hubert's  opinion,  Philippe 
appeared  to  possess  every  thing  that  could 
constitute  happiness,  except  that  in  which 
happiness  alone  could  be  found.  Though  this 
reflection  of  Hubert's,  as  I  have  expressed 
it,  seems  contradictory,  it  is  nevertheless 
just.  Every  thing  that  this  world  could  fur- 
nish to  promote  happiness,  was  abundantly 


^.M 


PIERRE    AND     HIS    FAMILY.  175 

bestowed  upon  Jeanvilliers ;  but,  being  with- 
out the  Bible,  he  seemed  to  Hubert  to  be 
without  a  key  to  open  his  treasures,  or  with- 
out a  guide  to  direct  him  how  to  use  them. 
Hubert  was  grieved,  on  this  account,  for  this 
amiable  and  interesting  youth ;  and,  when 
they  separated,  and  the  humble  peasant  re- 
tired to  his  closet,  he  knelt  down  and  prayed 
to  God  for  him. 

Gabrielle  was  as  much  delighted  with  the 
lady  Isabella,  as  Hubert  had  been  interested 
in  the  brother.  She  had  taken  her  to  the 
apartment  appropriated  to  the  labours  of  the 
females  in  the  house,  and  had  shown  her  some 
of  the  curious  tapestry  on  which  they  were 
employed ;  also,  the  glittering  embroidery  in 
which  others  were  occupied.  These  were 
exceedingly  admired  by  Gabrielle,  particu- 
larly the  latter,  which  was  beautiiul,  and 
might  be  considered  works  such  as  the  mo- 
ther of  Sisera  desired  for  her  son,  when  she 
said — "  To  Sisera  a  prey  of  divers  colours  ; 
of  divers  colours  of  needle-work ;  of  divers 
colours  of  needle-work  on  both  sides,  meet 
for  the  necks  of  them  that  take  the  spoil ;" 
Judges  V.  30.  The  little  peasant  girl,  with 
the  simplicity  natural  to  her  age,  and  the 
naivete  peculiar  to  her  education,  and  to  her 
retired  and  humble  lot  in  life,  delighted  and 
amused  Isabella  and  her  grandmamma's 
maidens,  who  asked  her  a  great  many  ques- 


176  PIERRE  AND  HIS  FAMILY. 

tions  about  her  own  people  in  the  valleys, 
and  if  all  the  stories  tliey  had  heard  of  the 
Waldenses  were  true.  Gabriel) e  answered 
them  civilly,  tliough  many  of  their  questions 
were,  she  thought,  very  strange,  if  not  very 
impertinent.  She  was  often  surprised  to  see 
how  they  crossed  themselves,  and  invoked 
the  saints  by  name,  as  she  affirmed  many 
things  to  be  false,  which  their  priests  had  told 
them  were  true.  They  also  wondered  to  hear 
that  there  were  no  images  in  the  churches  of 
the  valleys, — that  they  kept  no  saints'  days, 
nor  vigils, — and  that  they  had  no  breviaries ; 
for,  when  they  asked  her  to  show  them  her 
breviary,  Gabrielle  did  not  so  much  as  know 
what  they  meant :  however,  when  it  was  ex- 
plained to  her,  she  told  them,  in  her  own 
simple  and  sweetly  serious  manner,  how  her 
beloved  people  were  instructed  in  the  duties 
of  their  holy  religion,  reciting  to  them  great 
parts  of  the  Bible,  repeating  also  many  of  the 
doctrines  taught  in  the  catechism  of  her 
church,  confirming;  every  truth  she  had  learnt 
either  from  her  father  or  the  pastor,  by  pas- 
sages from  Scripture;  and,  with  much  sim- 
plicity and  affectionate  earnestness,  entreat- 
ing those  who  heard  her  to  believe  in  them — 
to  trust,  and  to  pray.  When  the  maids  ask- 
ed her  what  book  she  had  learnt  all  these 
things  from,  and  when  she  told  them  it  was 
from  the  Bible,  wliich  is  tlie  book  or  word  of 


PIERRE  AND   HIS   FAMILY.  177 

God,  they  were  surprised — tliey  did  not  know 
that  there  was  such  a  book  in  the  worhl,  or 
else  they  had  a  very  indistinct  iilea  of  it,  or 
liow  it  liad  been  given  to  man.  When  Isa- 
bella was  at  dinner  witli  her  grand inainina, 
she  repeated  much  of  wliat  she  had  heard 
from  Gabrielle,  by  which  her  curiosity  also 
was  excited,  and  she  desired  Hubert  and 
Gabrielle  to  come  into  the  drawing-room  in 
the  evening,  for  the  purpose  of  explaining 
some  things  that  Isabella  had  said. 

When  the  children  came  into  the  drawing- 
rootn,  Hubert,  who  was  much  more  learned 
than  his  sister,  answered  all  the  questions 
put  to  him  by  the  Countess;  and  he  recited, 
in  the  course  of  that  evening,  as  well  as  many 
other  evenings,  to  her,  and  her  beloved  grand- 
children, a  great  part  of  the  contents  of  the 
Holy  Book.  With  many  things  that  the  boy 
said,  this  excellent  lady  seemed  much  aftect- 
ed;  and  indeed,  there  were  few  people  in 
that  house  to  whom  his  words  were  not  mat- 
ter either  of  meditation  or  conversation  :  and 
tlie  good  seed  of  the  w  ord,  thus  sow  n  by  these 
persecuted  children  of  God,  was  known,  in 
several  cases,  to  spring  up  after  many  days. 
La  Beaume,  as  well  as  her  lady,  loved  to 
hear  Hubert  speak  of  good  things ;  and  slie 
often  made  others  of  the  servants  come  into 
her  room  and  liear  him  talk  of  these  things; 
and  Hubert  liad  no  greater  pleasure  than  to 


ITS  PIERRE  AKD   HIS   FAMILY. 

obey  La  Beaume  in  this  matter,  for  he  could 
have  repeated  chapters  from  the  Bible  from 
morning  till  midnight,  without  exhausting 
his  well-stored  memory;  for  Hubert  did  not 
choose  to  let  the  Catholics  see  his  Bible,  lest 
the  priest,  when  he  came  home,  should  take 
it  from  him.  Surely,  we  ought  to  learn,  from 
this  boy's  conduct,  dearly  to  prize  our  Bibles, 
and  to  be  ready,  at  all  times,  as  suitable  op- 
portunities present  themselves,  to  impart  our 
knowledge  to  our  ignorant  fellow  creatures, 
as  well  as  to  give  a  scriptural  reason  for  the 
blessed  hope  tliat  is  in  us. 

Young  minds  generally  desire  to  possess 
that  which  seems  to  procure  esteem  or  respect 
for  others.  Every  person  in  the  castle  of 
Jeanvilliers  was  full  of  the  praises  of  Hubert 
de  Beauvoisin.  La  Beaume  said,  she  loved 
the  sweet  boy  as  her  own  son ; — Renaud  could 
speak  of  nobody  else  to  his  young  master; 
— and  the  amiable  Countess,  in  giving  her 
usual  benediction  to  the  children,  had,  for  the 
last  two  or  three  nights,  passed  over  every 
saint  in  her  bead-roll,  and,  with  a  tenderness 
and  piety  that  no  false  religion  ever  excited, 
had  invoked  for  them  the  blessing  of  the  God 
of  the  Waldenses,  the  only  Saviour  of  man! 

Philippe,  penetrated  with  admiration  of 
Hubert's  learning,  and  feeling  a  strong  desire 
to  inspire  the  same  respect,  and  to  secure  the 
same  regard  from  all  around  liim,  which  he 


PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  179 

enjoyed,  and  which  Philippe  attributed  to  his 
knowledge  of  the  Bible,  requested  him  to 
come  every  day  into  the  library  to  instruct 
iiim  in  the  knowledge  of  his  faitli;  for,  while 
his  tutor  was  from  home,  which  was  the  case 
at  present,  he  had  no  other  studies  to  occupy 
him.  And  here,  as  has  often  happened  in  the 
dispensations  of  Him  who  in  his  sovereign 
wisdom  maketh  the  wrath  of  man  to  praise 
him,  and  who  overruleth  the  moral  whirlwind 
and  the  storm,  for  the  promotion  of  purposes 
of  unutterable  goodness,  botii  to  individuaU 
and  nations, — here  was  doubtless  laid,  by  this 
simple  boy,  by  means  of  the  word  of  truth, 
the  foundation  of  those  Christian  principles 
which  afterwards  shone  forth  in  the  ciiaracter 
of  Jeanvilliers;  and  which  led  him  to  be  the 
protector  of  the  people  of  the  valleys,  as  well 
as  the  benefactor  of  thousands  of  his  fellow 
creatures  beside,  whose  civil  rights  he  assert- 
ed in  the  senate  of  his  country,  and  of  the 
worth  of  whose  religious  sentiments,  as  well 
as  of  the  purity  and  excellence  of  their  con- 
duct, he  was  at  once  the  bright  example  and 
the  pledge. 

Hubert,  dear  boy,  expecting  no  such  grand 
results  from  his  poor  instructions,  yet,  above 
the  false  humility  that  would  have  shrunk 
from  the  honour  of  having  so  noble  a  pupil, 
gladly  obeyed  the  re(|uest  of  Philippe,  and, 
(Iny  after  d'av.  while  he  remained  at  JeauvU- 


180  PIERRE   AND   HIS  FAMILY. 

liers,  these  two  interesting  boys  devoted 
themselves  to  the  study  of  tlie  Bible — for 
Hubert  showed  his  Bible  to  the  Count; — and 
though  it  did  not,  like  his  grandfather's,  con- 
tain the  whole  of  the  scriptures,  but  only  de- 
tached books  of  them,  yet  Hubert  was  enabled 
to  illustrate  what  was  wanting,  by  many  a 
text,  promise,  precept,  and  prophecy,  from  a 
memory  richly  stored  with  the  sacred  contents 
of  the  word  of  God. 

With  you,  my  dear  children,  who  each 
possess  a  Bible  of  your  own,  I  need  not  go 
over  the  subjects  discussed  by  Hubert  and 
his  scholar  on  these  occasions.  Suffice  it  to 
say,  that  to  both  the  matter  was  deeply  in- 
teresting, as  Hubert,  beginning  at  "Moses 
and  the  Prophets,"  went  through  the  doc- 
trines of  that  Holy  Book,  presenting,  to  the 
mind  of  the  young  Catholic,  such  views  of 
divine  truth,  and  of  the  love  of  the  Saviour, 
as  he  sometimes  wept  to  hear;  and  explain- 
ing all  with  a  simplicity,  and  occasionally 
with  a  degree  of  pathos,  that  touched  the 
heart  not  only  of  the  noble  pupil,  but  of  the 
humble  instructor,  though  he  liad  heard  the 
same  truths  a  hundred  times  before.  •  As  Hu- 
bert knew  that  nothing  was  so  important,  as 
the  fact,  that  the  Bible  is  a  revelation  fiom 
God  to  man,  so  he  early  endeavoured  to  im- 
press it  on  the  mind  of  Pliilippe,  warning 
and  exhorting  him  on  this  subject ;  assuring 


PIERRE  AND   HIS    FAMILY.  181 

him  that  ''all  scripture  is  given  by  inspira- 
tion of  God,  and  is  prolitabU'  ior  doctrine, 
tor  reproof,  for  correction,  and  for  instiuc- 
tion  in  nghteousness,  tliat  the  man  of  God 
may  be  perfect,  thoroughly  furnished  unto 
all  good  works." — 2  Tim.  iii.  16,  17.  And  to 
convince  him  that  nothing  is  to  be  diminished 
from  the  scriptures,  nor  added  to  tliem,  he 
read  to  him  this  verse — "1  testify  unto  every 
man  that  heareth  the  words  of  the  propliecy 
of  this  book;  if  any  man  sliall  add  unto 
these  things,  God  shall  add  unto  him  the 
plagues  that  are  written  in  this  book  :  and  if 
any  man  shall  take  away  from  the  words  of 
the  book  of  this  prophecy,  God  shall  take 
away  his  part  out  of  the  book  of  life,  and  out 
of  the  holy  city,  and  from  the  things  that  are 
written  in  this  book." — Rev.  xxii.  18,  19. — 
And  the  more  to  impress  the  authoiity  of  the 
scriptures  on  the  mind  of  Philippe,  and  to 
weaken  his  superstitious  reverence  for  tra- 
dition, Hubert  told  iiim  that,  if  even  an  angel 
from  heaven  were  to  alight  upon  our  earth, 
and  attempt  to  preach  any  other  gospel,  or 
any  other  way  of  salvation  than  that  reveal- 
ed in  the  Bible,  he  is  to  be  accursed.  '"For 
though  we,  or  an  angel  from  heaven,  preach 
any  other  gospel  unto  you  tlian  that  which 
we  have  preached  unto  you — let  him  be  ac- 
cursed. As  we  said  befdie.  so  say  1  now 
again,  If  anv  man  preach  any  othei'  j;=ispel 
#0 


182  PIERRE    AND    HIS  FAMILY. 

unto  you,  than  that  ye  have  received — let  him 
be  accursed." — GaL  i.  8,  9.  All  this  Hubert 
particularly  pressed  upon  the  notice  of  the 
Count,  because  of  the  foolish  legends  and  tra- 
ditions which  he  had  seen  among  the  books  in 
the  library,  and  because  of  the  importance 
which  the  Count  and  others  seemed  to  attach 
to  their  contents.  Hubert,  therefore,  when 
enforcing  upon  the  mind  of  his  pupil  the  im- 
portance of  valuing  no  book  as  a  guide  in  re- 
ligious matters,  that  was  not  built  upon  the 
foundation  of  the  apostles  and  prophets,  con- 
cluded by  reminding  him  of  the  nrst  lesson 
with  which  he  had  set  out — That  the  Bible  is 
the  only  infallible  rule  of  faith  and  life — 
teaching  us  what  we  are  to  "  believe  concern- 
ing God,  and  what  duty  God  requires  of 
man." 

While  Hubert  thus  spoke  to  Philippe  of 
the  doctrines  and  religion  of  his  own  people, 
you  may  believe  he  sometimes  asked  the 
young  Catholic  to  tell  him  about  his;  and  I 
must  do  them  the  justice  to  say,  that  the  sub- 
jects, in  both  cases,  were  treated  with  great 
gravity  by  these  two  young  reasoners.  Phi- 
lippe, however,  seemed  to  be  rather  ignorant, 
or  possessed  of  very  crude  and  indistinct  no* 
tions,  both  of  what  he  professed  to  believe, 
and  what  he  believed  not;  and  if  proselytism 
had  been  the  object  of  Hubert  in  liis  instruc- 
tions, he  would  doubtless  have  had  little  liiffi- 


PIERRE  AND   HIS    FAMILY.  183 

culty  in  bring:in;^  over  his  ynunz  and  noble 
friend  to  liisopinif)ns  ;  but  Hubert  wished  only 
to  promulgate  the  truth,  knowing  that  when- 
ever it  was  savin«;ly  believed,  it  would  soon  be 
accompanied  by  correspondent  actions.  His 
object,  therefore, in  rpiestioning  Philij)pe  about 
his  religion,  was  merely  for  the  sake  of  deriv- 
ing some  information  on  the  subject;  but  Phi- 
lippe seemed  to  have  little  to  impart.  He 
could,  indeed,  describe  the  nature  of  its  forms, 
and  tell  the  number  of  its  sacraments,  for  his 
tutor  was  considered  as  a  man  of  singular  de- 
votion amon^  his  own  people,  and  had  well 
instructed  his  pupil  in  the  formulary  of  his 
creed;  the  mass,  the  saints,  the  images,  pur- 
gatory, penance,  indulgences,  were  therefore 
topics  familiar  to  the  boy,  though  of  their  spi- 
ritual meaning,  if  they  had  any,  he  seemed 
entirely  ignorant. 

Hubert  was  very  much  shocked  by  many 
things  which  the  youn^  Catholic  represented 
to  him,  as  the  objects  ot  his  faith  and  worship, 
— or  at  least  which  he  was  directed  to  believe, 
and  offer  homage  to,  or  pray  before,  which 
seems  to  be  the  same  thing.  Hubert  would 
gladly  have  argued  away  all  these  absurdities 
from  the  mind  of  Philippe,  but  he  did  not 
know  how  to  do  it,  except  by  showing  him 
how  contradictory  they  were  to  Scripture; — 
and  tliis  ])lan  he  adopted,  thou sih  not  with  any 
marked,   or  even   aj)parent  success,   at    that 


184  I'lEKRE    AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

time, — yet  the  good  seed,  as  I  have  already 
said,  did  spring  up  afterwards,  and  brougiit 
forth  fruit  an  hundred  fold. 

One  day,  Hubert  asked  Philippe,  "-  if  it  was 
true  that  he  confessed  his  sins  to  the  priest?" 
To  which  Philippe  replied — '' Certainly,  when 
I  have  any  sins  to  confess."  When  he  an- 
swered thus,  Hubert  was  greatly  grieved  for 
him;  and  told  him,  with  much  affection  and 
earnestness,  that  no  priest  on  earth  could  ab- 
solve him  from  the  guilt,  or  avert  from  him 
the  punishment  due  to  sin: — saying,  "who 
can  forgive  sins  but  God  only?"  And,  as  to 
his  having  sins  to  confess,  he  explained  to 
him  the  utter  depravity  of  man  by  nature; 
and  how  every  thought  of  his  heart  is  evil, 
and  only  evil  in  the  sight  of  a  holy  God ;  and 
that  he  was,  by  nature,  a  child  of  wrath  as 
well  as  others, — and  that  there  was  no  mo- 
ment of  his  life,  in  which  he  could  be  said  to 
have  no  sins  to  confess  to  God.  When  Phi- 
lippe heard  this,  he  said  "  the  saint  of  Jean- 
villiers  would  intercede  for  him,  for  he  had 
been  saint  to  his  family  for  three  hundred 
years  and  more."  When  Hubert  heard  these 
words,  he  uttered  a  groan  of  horror  and  de- 
spair, to  think  that  his  beloved  Philippe  should 
entertain  sentiments  so  full  of  blasphemy  and 
absurdity  as  these.  He,  therefore,  with  tears, 
urged  him  to  give  up  so  shocking  an  article 
of  his  faith,  and  to  believe  that  there  is  but 


PIERRE    AND    HIS    FAMILY.  185 

one  Mediator  between  God  and  man,  tlie 
man  Christ  Jesus."  This  verse  he  read  to 
him  from  the  Bible,  adding  ••  Him  the  Father 
heareth  always."  '•  Wherefore,  he  is  able  to 
save  them  to  the  uttermost  that  come  unto 
God  by  him,  seeing  he  ever  liveth  to  make 
intercession  for  them." 

But  none  of  you  are  Catholics,  my  dear 
readers,  therefore  I  need  not  repeat  any  more 
of  Hubert's  arguments  with  the  Count,  at  this 
time,  which  touched  on  many  other  topics  of 
no  importance  to  you.  As  they  were  about 
to  part,  Philippe,  who  had  been  particularly 
struck   by  something    Hubert  had  said,  re- 

farding  the  second  commandment — of  which 
e  affirmed,  as  of  every  other  it  might  be  said, 
*'I  give  thee  charge,  that  thou  keep  this  com- 
mandment without  spot,  unrebukable  ;" — Phi- 
lippe, who  had  been  alarmed  by  some  strong 
argument  used  by  Hubert,  on  the  subject  of 
worshipping  pictures  and  images,  asked  him 
to  accompany  him  to  view  some  pictures  and 
statues,  which,  he  thought,  would  overcome 
Hubert's  very  strong  aversion  to  this  part  of 
the  Roman  ritual.  Hubert,  therefore,  fol- 
lowed him  to  an  apartment  in  the  Castle, 
which  he  had  never  seen  before.  It  was  a 
kind  of  chapel,  or  place  for  prayer;  and  there 
were  many  things  in  it  of  which  Hubert  knew 
neither  the  names  nor  the  use.  Philippe,  go- 
ing up  to  the  top  of  the  room,  ctrew  aside  a 
0  ^2 


186  PIERRE   AND    HIS   FAMILY. 

green  curtain  which  was  hanging  in  front  of  a 
splendid  piece  of  painting,  that  covered  the 
whole  end  of  tlie  room,  and  disclosed  to  the 
eyes  of  Hubert  a  work  of  art,  of  the  eminent 
merit  of  which,  he,  poor  boj,  could  know  no- 
thing, though,  by  its  illusion,  he  was  almost 
entranced. 

In  one  moment,  Hubert  felt  himself  in  the 
presence  of  a  number  of  persons  whom  he  had 
never  seen  before,  but  with  whose  names,  as 
Philippe  repeated  some  of  them,  he  was  sa- 
credly familiar.  **  There!"  said  the  young 
Catholic,  with  feelings  at  once  chastened  by 
superstitious  reverence,  and  half  triumphing 
in  the  expression  of  astonishment  and  delight 
with  which  Hubert  gazed  on  the  painting. — 
"  There!  my  dear  Hubert,  tell  me  if  there  be 
sin  in  coming  here  to  pray — or,  as  you  call  it, 
to  worship?" 

Hubert  looked  sternly  at  Philippe,  as  he 
asked  him  that  question — for  he  was  now  just 
beginning  to  collect  the  meaning  of  the  pic- 
ture,— which,  in  its  first  appearance,  was 
not  offensive,  Philippe  having  reserved  those 
pictures  to  which  Hubert's  objections  would 
probably  be  strongest,  to  show  him  at  last. — 
As  Hubert  began  to  gather  the  meaning  of 
the  picture,  he  turned  away  his  head,  but 
Philippe  entreated  him  to  look  again,  as  he 
stood  holding  the  string  of  the  curtain  in 
one  hand,  and  beckoning    Hubert  with  the 


PIERRE   AND    HIS   FAMILY.  187 

other  to  approach  nearer  ;  but  Hubert  main- 
tained his  station  at  the  bottom  of  the  room, 
wliile  Philippe  named  in  succession  the  dif- 
ferent persons  represented  in  the  piece,  as 
he  had  lieard  the  subject  explained  by  his 
tutor. 

"These  figures  which  jou  name  disciples 
and  apostles,"  said  Hubert,  "I  may  inno- 
cently look  at.  And  these  boys  on  the  stairs 
of  the  temple,  who  seem  to  be  crying  Hosan- 
na;  and  that  girl  with  the  basket  of  doves  on 
her  head — these  I  may  gaz,e  on — and  may 
even  look  at  the  twilight  lustre  of  that  seven- 
branched  candlestick,  which  I  see  far  down 
the  inside  of  the  temple;  but,  at  that  figure 
with  the  shining  circle  of  light  around  his 
head,  I  must  not  look — for,  you  say,  it  pre- 
sumptuously dares  to  represent  Him,  who 
hath  said — *  Thou  shalt  not  make  unto  thee 
any  graven  image;  or  any  likeness  of  any 
thing  that  is  in  heaven  above,  or  that  is  in  the 
earth  beneath,  or  that  is  in  the  water  under 
the  earth ;  thou  shalt  not  bow  down  thyself 
to  them,  nor  serve  them.' — Then  after  a  pause 
he  added — '  Take  ye  good  heed  unto  your- 
selves, for  ye  saw  no  manner  of  similitude 
on  the  day  that  the  Lord  spake  unto  you  in 
Horeb,  out  of  the  midst  of  the  fire,  lest  ye 
corrupt  yourselves,  and  make  you  a  graven 
image,  the  similitude  of  any  fio;ure,  the  like- 
ness of  male  or  female.' — •  Forasmuch,  then, 


188  PIERRE    AND    HIS     TAMILY. 

as  we  are  the  offspring  of  Go<l,  we  ought  not 
to  think  that  the  Godliead  is  like  unto  gold, 
or  silver,  or  stone,  graven  by  art  and  man's 
device.'  Let  us  beware  of  the  iniquity  of 
changing  the  'glory  of  the  incorruptible  God, 
into  an  image  made  like  to  corruptible  men.' " 

Notwithstanding  the  energy  and  fervour 
with  which  the  pious  Waldense  recited  these 
Scriptures,  in  the  hearing  of  Philippe,  he 
still  imagined  that  Hubert  was  not  quite 
sincere.  "How,"  said  he,  "I  thought  you 
were  struck  with  delight,  Hubert,  my  friend, 
as  I  drew  aside  the  curtain, — you  really 
seemed  not  less  pleased  than  astonished  witn 
the  picture!"  "True,"  replied  Hubert, ''I 
was  taken  by  surprise — I  imagined  the  thing 
was  real. — I  thought  if  I  had  proceeded  one 
step  further  into  the  room,  1  snould  have  in- 
terrupted the  healing  of  that  sick  man." 

In  these  expressions  of  unsophisticated 
feeling,  this  boy  proved,  more  than  the  most 
learned  arguments  could  have  done,  the  fas- 
cination in  which  the  senses  are  held  by  the 
visible  representation  of  invisible  things; 
and,  consequently,  the  sin  and  danger  of  such 
a  practice.  ''It  I  were  of  your  religion," 
added  Hubert,  "  I  should  not  worship  with 
my  spirit.  How  could  I  attach  to  that  image 
any  of  the  attributes  of  my  God.  Like  the 
idols  of  the  heathen,  'blue  and  purple  is 
their  clothing,  and  tliey  are  the  works  ot  cun- 


PIERRE    AND     HIS    FAMILY.  189 

iiing  men.' — 'They  arc  upright  as  the  palm 
tree,  but  speak  not;  they  must  needs  be 
borne  because  they  cannot  go: — Be  not  afraid 
of  them,  for  they  cannot  do  evil,  neither  also 
is  it  in  them  to  do  good.' " 

Philippe  appeared  thoughtful  as  his  young 
friend  expressed,  first  his  horrors  of  the  wor- 
ship of  images,  and  then  his  contempt  of  the 
images  themselves;  he  never  in  his  life  be- 
fore, imagined  that  such  a  practice  was  not 
accordant  with  true  holiness — nay,  a  proof  of 
it — he  had  been  taught  to  venerate  these  ob- 
jects— he  had  never  approaciied  them  with- 
out some  such  veneration ; — in  short,  he  had 
experienced,  in  his  own  young  heart  and 
ardent  imagination,  all  that  idolatrous  at- 
tachment to  these  sensible  objects,  which, 
whatever  may  be  said  to  the  contrary,  this 
specious  form,  or  means  of  worship,  is  so 
perniciously  fitted  to  create.  Philippe  re- 
mained thoughtful  awhile,  and  then  begged 
Hubert  to  instruct  him  in  the  nature  of  what 
he  called  spiritual  worship,  and  to  tell  him 
again  why  he  spoke  with  such  an  utter  ab- 
horrence and  contempt  of  objects  which  fill- 
ed his  mind  only  with  sentiments  of  rever- 
ence and  holy  awe.  Hubert  gladly  availed 
himself  of  Philippe's  question,  to  give  him 
all  the  instruction  in  his  power  upon  these 
interesting  subjects;  showing  him  that  "God 
is  a  spirit,  and   they   that   worship  him  must 


190  PIERRE    AND     HIS    FAMILY 

worship  him  in  spirit  and  in  truth,  for  such 
the  Father  seeketh  to  worship  him."  It  is 
the  homage  of  the  heart  which  God  requires 
of  us. — '*  My  son  give  me  thine  heart." 
**Turn  ye  unto  me  with  all  your  heart." 
Hubert  also  showed  him,  from  his  Bible, 
how  express  the  command  of  God  was  against 
all  idolatry ;  and  "  as  to  my  own  catechism," 
said  Hubert,  "it  teaches  me  to  abhor  the 
making  any  representation  of  the  Deity 
either  inwardly  in  my  mind,  or  outwardly  in 
any  kind  of  image,  or  likeness  of  any  crea- 
ture whatsoever;  all  worshipping  of  it,  or  of 
God  in  it,  or  God  by  it." 

"If  I  had  a  Bible,"  said  Philippe,  ''I 
would  learn  all  these  things  that  you  speak 
of,  dear  Hubert.  When  Le  Maitre  goes  to 
Paris,  I  will  direct  him  to  buy  me  a  Bible, 
if  it  can  be  had  for  money. " 

Hubert's  eyes  sparkled  with  delight  as  the 
Catholic  said  he  was  determined  to  have  a 
Bible.  ''  My  dear  lord,"  said  Hubert,  "  that 
is  all  I  want  for  you,  and  all  I  wish  for  you — 
a  Bible,  and  the  teaching  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 
When  you  have  these,  you  will  soon  give  your 
idols  to  the  '  moles  and  to  the  bats.' "  Isaiah  ii. 
20.  Thus  saying,  they  left  the  apartment,  in 
which  there  were  several  other  paintings  and 
images,  as  well  as  statues  in  niches  in  the 
walls,  but  all  were  covered  up  to  preserve 
them  from  the  lidit  and  ilust.     Soniething  at 


PIERRE     AND    HIS    FAMILY.  191 

the  east  end  of  the  room,  perhaps  from  its 
pre-eminence,  had  a  richer  coveriu]^  tlian  any 
of  the  others,  being  hung  witli  a  drapery  oV 
crimson  velvet,  and  placed  within  a  space 
railed  oft*  from  the  rest  of  the  chapel.  Within 
this  space  was  an  altar-piece,  between  pil- 
lars, which,  together  with  the  railing,  were 
richly  gilt.  On  one  side  stood  a  baptismal 
font,  composed  of  bronze  and  gold,  and  lined 
with  white  marble.  The  steps  leading  up  to 
the  altar  were  richly  carpeted,  and  the  chairs 
m  front  were  covered  with  crimson  velvet 
the  same  as  the  drapery.  It  was,  however, 
merely  the  outside  of  these  things  which 
Hubert  beheld ;  for  Philippe,  having  wit- 
nessed his  strong  aversion  to  images  and 
pictures,  did  not  venture  to  ask  him  to  look 
at  the  immense  crucifix  which  was  here  con- 
cealed under  the  drapery,  and  to  which  mor- 
tal hands  had  dared  to  afl&x  the  image  of  a 
human  figure  as  large  as  life,  before  which, 
multitudes  had,  for  many  a  year,  been  called 
to  bow  down  and  worship.  Hubert,  there- 
fore, left  the  chapel  without  seeing  either  the 
decorations  of  the  altar  or  the  altar-piece ; 
he  saw,  however,  enough  of  the  tinsel — the 
trumpery — the  meagreness — and  the  absur- 
dities of  this  superstition  to  enable  him  to 
place  it  in  contrast  with  the  naked  majesty 
— the  exquisite  proportion — the  noble  sym- 
metry— the  dignity,    and  perfect  fulness  of 


192  PIERRE   AND   HIS  FAMILY. 

that  system  of  divine  truth  which  the  gospel 
of  our  Lord  reveals  to  man.  Meditating 
such  thoughts  as  these,  Hubert  and  Philippe 
crossed  the  hall — at  the  end  of  which,  they 
separated;  the  one  to  dress  for  dinner,  the 
other  to  seek  for  Gabrielle,  and  to  inclulge 
again  his  grief,  his  anguish,  and  despair,  at 
being  so  long  separated  from  his  father  aiid 
his  people. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


CONCLUSION. 

•*  The  most  beloved  on  earth 

Not  long  survives  to-day ; 
So  music  past  is  obsolete, 
And  yet  'twas  sweet,  'twas  passing  sweet, 

But  now  'tis  gone  away." 

Henry  Kirk  While. 

The  time  for  Le  Maitre,  the  steward,  pro- 
ceeding to  La  Flechere,  had  extended  far  be- 
yond the  few  days  at  first  specified  by  his  mis- 
tress. At  length  the  evening  arrived  previous 
to  the  day  on  which  he  was  to  set  out.  Hu- 
bert busied  himself  all  the  preceding  day  in 
writino:  letters  to  his  dear  fatlier;  for  he  tried 


PIERRE    AXn     HIS    FAMILY.  193 

two  or  three  before  he  could  satisfy  himself 
which  he  ought  to  send.  To  tell  his  father 
first  that  Henri  only  was  dead,  he  thought 
would  be  best,  and  leave  the  other  part  of  his 
melancholy  news  till  they  should  meet.  But 
no  sooner  had  he  written  thus,  than  he  remem- 
bered how  much  his  father  had  afiiicted  him- 
self for  the  death  of  Antoine.  So  he  changed 
his  mind,  and  thought  he  would  not  tell  him 
that  they  had  suffered  any  bereavement  at  all. 
Then  again,  it  occurred  to  him,  that  neither 
he  nor  Gabriel le  would  be  able,  after  all  they 
had  sutt'ered,  to  sustain  the  view  of  their  fa- 
tiier's  despair,  when  he  should  see  them  with- 
out either  their  beloved  mother  or  her  baby; 
and  therefore  he  wrote  another  letter  in  which 
he  communicated  the  death  of  both ;  but 
hardly  had  he  finished  this,  than  he  was  per- 
suaded the  bare  perusal  of  it  would  kill  his 
father  at  once, — so  he  tore  it  to  atoms,  and, 
in  his  fourth  and  last  attempt,  which  was  to 
be  general  and  concise,  he  wrote  as  fol- 
lows : — 

*'my  dear,  dear  father. 

"  1  ARDENTLY  desirc  to  see  you.  I  do  not 
know  whether  you  are  really  at  LaFlechere: 
but  Monsieur  Le  Maitre  has  given  us  his 
faithful  promise  that  he  will  endeavour  to  find 
you  out.  We  have  suffered  much  "^rief  since 
we  left  our  own  dear  vallev.  I  will  tell  vou 
li 


194  PIERRE  AND  HIS   FAMILY.' 

the  cause  of  our  sorrow  when  we  meet.  The 
God  of  our  fathers  has  tenderly  cared  for  us, 
and  every  body  is  our  friend,  especially  the 
Countess  and  Philippe:  I  love  and  respect 
them  very  much;  and  Gabrielle  has  the  same 
regard  for  the  Lady  Isabella,  who  is  as  kind 
to  her  as  if  she  were  dear  Marguerite,  and  the 
same  almost  as  her  sister,  only  she  is  noble 
and  rich,  and  Gabrielle  is  poor.  Every  body 
in  the  house,  particularly  I^a  Beaume  and 
Renaud,  treat  us  with  compassion.  1  will  tell 
you  all,  dearest  father,  when  we  meet.  Ga- 
brielle weeps  to  embrace  you  once  more,  0 
my  beloved  father! — Make  haste  to  write  a 
letter  to  us.  We  will  come  to  you  the  instant 
Le  Maitre  returns.  Accept  the  affection  and 
reverence  of 

"  Your  loving  son, 

"Hubert  de  Beauvoisin." 
"  Castle  of  Jeanvilliers,  Friday  Eve.'- 

During  the  absence  of  Monsieur  Le  Maitre, 
the  young  orphans  continued  to  receive  the 
same  marks  of  kindness  as  before,  from  the 
inhabitants  of  Jeanvilliers.  The  same  Lord 
who  caused  Israel  to  be  pitied  of  those  that 
carried  him  away  captive,  caused  the  hearts 
of  this  ftimily  to  pity  and  protect  the  children 
of  his  people;  so  that  even  those  of  the  house- 
hold, who  would,  either  Irom  prejudice  or 
superstition,    have    been    rather    inimical   to 


PIERRE  AXD  HIS  FAMILY.  195 

these  AValdenses,  and  jealous, — from  a  mis- 
taken zeal  perhaps, — of  the  favour  they  ob- 
tained from  their  mistress,  were,  on  this  occa- 
sion, prevented  from  showint^  their  dislike, 
insomuch  that  it  might  be  said,  in  regard  to 
the  kindness  thev  met  with  both  from  liigh  and 
low,  that  "  tlie  hairs  of  their  head  were  all 
numbered." 

Hubert  was  almost  constantly  in  the  com- 
pany of  Philippe,  either  in  the  library,  in  the 
manege,  or  in  the  guard  room,  where  the 
Count  was  taught  the  accomplishments  com- 
mon to  his  age  and  rank.  Sometimes  he  rode 
out  with  him  into  the  fields,  and  sometimes 
they  spent  a  day  in  the  mountains  ;  from 
whence,  though  the  castle  of  Jeanvilliers  was 
situated  at  the  opening  of  the  plain,  and 
at  the  descent  of  the  last  of  the  hills,  they 
were  not  more  than  a  day's  journey  distant. 
On  these  occasions  Hubert  showed  that  he 
possessed  accomplishments  fully  as  valuable 
as  riding  or  fencing;  for  there  was  hardly  a 
plant  that  adorned  the  sward  beneath  their 
feet,  or  a  bird  that  spread  its  pinions  over 
their  head,  or  even  an  insect  that  danced  in 
the  sunbeam,  from  the  pale  green  grasshopper 
to  the  brilliant  dragon  fly,  that  Hubert  did 
not  know  by  name; — while  of  many  he  knew 
both  the  habits,  and  the  uses. 

But  though  Hubert  was  thus  honoured  to 
attend  the  vouuu.  Joauvilliers  on  such  occa-» 


196  PIERRE  AND   HIS    FAMILY. 

sions  as  these,  he  was  not  achnitted  to  sit  at 
the  same  table  with  the  Count.  Gabrielle 
and  he  lived  at  La  Beaiune's  table,  who  was 
kind  to  them,  not  merely  because  her  ladj 
desired  it,  but  because  she  really  loved  these 
children;  so  much  had  their  piety  and  their 
afflictions,  as  well  as  that  amiableness  which 
ever  accompanies  the  true  child  of  God,  en- 
deared them  to  her  heart.  Once,  when  she 
had  occasion  to  remark  the  self-denial  and 
courtesy  of  Hubert  to  an  inferior  of  the  castle, 
she  asked  him  if  he  learnt  good  manners 
from  his  Bible,  as  well  as  every  other  virtue.^ 
He  said,  "  Yes;  it  not  only  taught  him  to  do 
unto  others  as  he  would  that  they  should  do 
unto  him, — to  be  true,  just,  and  honest — 
meek,  patient,  and  gentle, — it  also  taught  him 
to  be  courteous,  and  not  merely  to  think  of 
and  practice  every  thing  that  was  pure,  and  ^ 
worthy  of  praise,  and  of  good  report,  but 
every  thing  that  was  lovely.  The  attain- 
ment of  all  that  was  implied  in  this  word 
lovely,  my  grandfather,  the  dear  old  Pastor, 
used  to  say,  was  the  last  refinement  of  the 
Christian;  he  called  it  the  perfect  fruit,  with 
its  bloom — freshness — fragrance — and  sweet- 
ness; like  natural  fruit  gathered  in  the  very 
dew  of  the  morning." 

Hubert  and  Gabrielle,  who  had  counted 
first  the  hours,  and  then  the  days,  from  the 
time  of  Le  Maitre's  departure,  waited  his  re- 


PIERRE    AND    HIS   FAMILY.  197 

turn  with  a  de^^reo  of  iinpatience  which  almost 
threw  Galjrielle  into  a  tever.  The  steward's 
errand  to  La  FItchere  was  connected  with 
business  of  the  Count's  which  he  could  not  jret 
accomplished  so  speedily  as  he  wished.  At 
the  end  of  another  week,  however,  he  was 
enabled  to  return  to  Jeanvilliers;  but,  to  the 
utter  despair  of  Hubert  and  his  sister,  he 
brought  back  the  unopened  letter  which  the 
boy  had  written  to  his  father,  together  with 
the  overwhelming  intelligence  that  Pierre  had 
perished  in  the  destruction  of  the  village  of 
St.  Madelaine-de-Relleville  I 

But  the  Pastor  Pascal  was  still  alive.  Hav- 
ing escaped  the  massacre  which  took  place  in 
the  valley,  and  having  ascertained — so  far  as 
it  was  possible  to  ascertain  it — the  fate  of  his 
brother  Pierre,  he  had  collected  together  as 
many  of  his  beloved  flock  as  survived  the 
wreck  of  property  and  the  loss  of  kindred  and 
friends,  and,  departing  from  the  valley,  had, 
by  a  long  and  circuitous  route,  crossed  the 
mountains,  and  succeeded  in  rejoining  his 
family  and  conveying  them  to  a  temporary 
asylum.  The  Pastoi-  had  made  the  most 
anxious  inquiries  and  most  unwearied  search 
for  the  wife  and  children  of  his  brother,  whose 
unfortunate  departure  from  the  rest  of  the 
party  in  the  mountains  had  not  been  observed 
till  too  late  to  be  remedied.  All  tho  Pastor's 
endeavours  to  find  the  children  had  hitherto 
R  1 


h 

!*'••» 


198  PIERRE  AND    HIS   FAMILY. 

been  fruitless.  He  .had,  however,  obtained 
the  assistance  of  a  kind  friend,  an  inhabitant 
of  La  Flechere,  who  had  promised  not  to  give 
up  the  search;  but  to  endeavour,  by  every 
means  in  his  power,  to  bring  the  uncle  and 
children  into  communication  with  each  other. 
To  this  person  Le  Maitre  had  addressed 
himself,  and,  through  his  instrumentality,  the 
children  were  now  to  be  conducted  in  safety 
to  the  distant  valley  where  the  Pastor  Pas- 
cal, with  such  of  his  family  and  flock,  and 
other  exiles,  as  had  outlived  the  miseries  of 
the  persecution,  were  about  to  unite,  and 
form  themselves  into  a  Christian  community. 
Need  I  tell  you  that  the  grief  of  Hubert 
and  Gabriel  le,  on  hearing  of  the  death  of 
their  beloved  father,  was  bitter?  Ah!  it  was 
indeed  bitter — deep — impassioned  !  But  the 
Lord  tempered  it  to  them  by  a  thousand  kind- 
nesses and  condescensions  on  the  part  of  the 
amiable  Countess  and  her  dear  family.  And 
when  the  time  arrived  for  them  to  depart  for 
La  Flechere  to  Monsieur  Roland's,  through 
whose  kindness  they  were  to  be  conveyed  m 
safety  to  the  Valley  of  Hope,  as  the  fugitive 
flock  had,  in  the  gratitude  of  their  heart  to 
God  for  a  place  of  shelter,  denominated  their 
new  abode ; — when  the  time  arrived  for  their 
departure,  the  Countess  and  Philippe  loaded 
Hubert  and  Gabrielle  with  presents  for  them- 
selves, and  with  presents  for  the  Pastor  their 


PIERRE  AND   HIS   FAMILY.  199 

uncle, and  for  liis^ood  F^ouise.  The  Countess 
not  only  sent  her  own  servant  and  mules  with 
them  to  Monsieur  Roland's,  but  directed  him 
to  accompany  them  after  they  should  leave 
La  Flechere,  till  he  saw  them  safe  under  the 
protection  of  their  relatives.  This  excellent 
lady  assured  these  young  orplians  that  they 
might  depend  upon  her  protection  at  ail 
times,  and  made  them  promise  that,  if  either 
deserted  or  persecuted,  they  w^ould  take  re- 
fuge with  her. 

After  many  days'  journey  Hubert  and  Ga- 
brielle  arrived  at  the  valley.  Their  meeting 
with  such  of  the  fugitives  from  St.  Madelaine 
as  yet  remained  alive,  was  deeply  affecting. 
Pascal  and  his  good  Louise  wept  over  them 
in  silence — embraced  them — and  then  wept 
again, — nor  was  it  for  many  days  after  their 
reunion,  that  the  name  of  their  beloved 
mother  or  her  affecting  history  could  be 
touched  upon;  while,  on  the  other  side,  the 
same  silence  was  maintained  in  regard  to 
their  father.  ''  He  is  blest," — or  "  tliey  are 
happy;" — these  were  the  only  words  uttered 
by  the  Pastor. 

But  time,  if  it  do  not  erase,  at  least  sooths 
our  sorrows,  softens  the  acuteness  of  agoniz- 
ing thought,  and  takes  away  much  of  the  bit- 
terness of  our  reflections.  In  the  course  of 
years  the  new  valley  was  as  much  beloved  by 
the  )'»ung  Waldeiise,  as   the  valley  of  St. 


200  PIERRE   AND    HIS   FAMILY. 

Madelaine  had  been  bj  the  old.  Hubert 
became  the  assistant  of  his  uncle  the  Pastor, 
till  a  situation  among  his  own  people,  in  some 
other  district,  should  open  up  to  him  a  wider 
sphere  of  Christian  usefulness.  Trained  in 
ine  school  of  affliction,  and  educated  under  a 
preceptor  of  the  purest  principles,  and  of  the 
most  devoted  consecration  of  his  whole  being 
to  his  Master's  service,  Hubert  early  became 
a  workman  that  needed  not  to  be  ashamed. 
Gabrielle,  retaining  all  her  artlessness  of 
character,  her  simplicity  of  manner,  and  re- 
gaining much  of  her  playful  vivacity,  became 
the  wife  of  her  cousin  Albert,  and  met  a  hap- 
pier lot  on  earth  than  had  been  cast  for  her 
beloved  mother. 

The  fury  of  persecution,  which  had  scat- 
tered the  Waldenses,  had  also  scattered  wide 
the  seeds  of  truth.  And  while  the  Lord's 
people  had,  by  his  blessing,  gained  all  that  is 
to  be  gained  in  the  furnace  of  affliction,  many 
who  had  not,  with  them,  "sown  in  tears," 
were,  nevertheless,  in  consequence  of  their 
distresses,  now  "  reaping  in  joy." 

Among  those  who  had  been  benefited  by 
the  wide  sowing  of  the  good  seed  of  the  word, 
on  that  occasion,  was  the  noble  boy  Jeanvil- 
liers.  Philippe,  according  to  his  promise 
given  at  parting  with  Hubert,  had  purchased 
a  Bible  for  himself — had  read  it  for  himself — 
"without  note  or  coimnenl,"  and,  a'^re  abK' 


PIERRE   AND    HIS    FAMILY.  201 

(o  the  advice  of  liis  huin)}le  instructor,  haJ 
asked,  in  prayer,  for  the  aid  of  that  other 
Teacher,  even  the  Holy  One,  who  alone 
teacheth  savingly,  and  to  proiit.  Under  the 
guidance  of  Him  who  is  the  Spirit  of  Truth, 
and  who  guides  into  all  truth,  none  can  err. 
Jeanvilliers  had  much  to  combat  with,  before 
he  was  enabled  to  shake  ott'  the  trammels  of 
those  forms  of  religion,  or  rather  of  supersti- 
tion, in  which  he  had  been  educated.  Each 
new  conviction  of  the  truth  upon  his  mind, 
however,  he  was  happily  enabled  to  follow  up 
by  correspondent  firmness  of  action ;  till  he 
finally  renounced  all  the  errors  of  Popery,  and 
allied  himself  to  that  church  which  in  those 
days  began  to  take  to  itself,  for  the  first  time, 
the  name  of  Protestant.  Thus,  through  the 
instrumentality  of  Hubert  the  peasant  boy, 
this  noble  Catholic  became  by  inquiry, — from 
conviction, — and  in  the  use  of  proper  means, 
— a  most  valuable  and  interesting  Christian. 
By  nature,  perhaps,  Jeanvilliers  would  have 
been  a  philanthropist,  and  would  have  la- 
boured for  the  moral  improvement  and  tem- 
poral happiness  of  mankind.  But,  as  a  Chris- 
tian, he  took  a  higher  aim;  and  to  guard  from 
the  encroachments  of  power,  the  religious  pri- 
vileges of  his  people,  and  to  promote  the  spi- 
ritual benefit  of  his  fellow  creatures,  were 
labours  to  which  he  bent  himself  with  all  the 


^. 


202  yiERRE  AND   HIS   FAMILY. 

weight  of  his  wealth,  his  worth,  his  influence* 
and  his  talents.  United  also  to  one,  every 
way  worthy  of  being;  the  wife  of  such  a  man 
— they  botli,  in  their  domestic,  as  well  as  in 
their  public  characters,  exhibited  to  all  around 
them,  the  beauty — the  holiness — the  sanctity 
— and  blessedness  of  that  religion,  which 
springs  up  in  the  heart,  and  blossoms  in  the 
life  of  all  those  who  savingly  believe  in  '*  Him 
of  whom  the  Scriptures  testify,"  and  who 
prize,  above  all  things,  the  precious,  precious 
Bible. 

Happily  for  the  Count,  his  religious  senti- 
ments, were  not  peculiar  to  himself; — they 
were  shared  by  his  family;  for  his  excellent 
parent,  the  only  mother  at  least  he  had  ever 
known,  had  long  leaned — secretly,  for  fear 
of  the  priest— to  the  doctrines  of  the  Wal- 
denses.  The  lady  Isabella  also,  once  too 
gentle  and  humble  almost  to  venture  to  ex- 
press an  opinion  of  her  own,  or  to  question 
any  sentiment  uttered  by  another,  was  now, 
not  only  from  conviction  and  by  conversion, 
a  sincere  and  devoted  professor  of  the  true 
religion,  but,  animated  by  zeal  and  guided  by 
love,  she  sought  to  impart  to  others  the  pre- 
cious truths  she  herself  believed ;  truths 
which  had  filled  her  with  so  much  comfort, 
peace,  and  hope,  and  by  which  she  .had  been 
delivered  from  a  yoke  of  foir^is  and  ccremo 


PIERRE  AND   HIS   FAMILY.  203 

riies,  without  woitli.  and  ovfii  without  mean- 
ing, which  only  served  cruelly  to  lull  the  con- 
science asleep,  that  the  soul  niij^ht  thereby 
Tall  a  more  easy  prey  to  the  merciless  wiles 
of  the  Devil. 

The  grateful  Philippe  no  sooner  found 
himself  in  circumstances  to  promote  the  dis- 
semination of  the  word  of  God,  and  the  know- 
ledge of  the  true  religion,  among  the  pea- 
santry on  his  wide  estates,  and  among  the 
artizans  and  mechanics  in  the  neighbouring 
villages,  than  he  despatched  a  messenger  to 
Hubert,  his  friend,  the  honourable  name  by 
which  he  always  distinguished  the  humble 
Waldense — entreating  him  to  add  to  the 
early  benefits  he  had  conferred  on  him,  and 
all  his  house,  by  consenting  to  become  the 
Pastor  of  a  church  in  the  valley  of  Jeanvil- 
liers,  and  preaching  the  same  gospel  to  the 
people  of  the  cottages  that  he  had  once 
preached  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  castle. 

Hubert  received  this  call  with  joy,  and 
soon  became  the  Pastor  of  a  most  interesting 
iiock,  and  was  honoured  to  gather  in  many  a 
wanderer  to  the  fold  of  the  Chief  Shepherd. 
Hither  also  resorted  many  of  his  persecuted 
brethren  from  the  "places  where  they  had 
been  scattered  in  the  cloudy  and  dark  day." 
By  the  blessing  from  above,  and  under  the 
protection  of  the   house   of  Jeanvilliers,  the 


204  PIERRE   AND  HIS   FAMILY. 

churches  of  the  valleys  were  again  seen  green 
and  flourishing,  having  lost  nothing  by  being 
transplanted  to  another  soil :  Tlie  promise 
made  to  the  dispersed  flock  of  old,  seemed 
now  to  be  fulfilled  to  this  hitherto  "tossed 
and  afflicted"  people.  "  I  will  seek  that 
which  was  lost,  and  bring  again  that  which 
was  driven  away,  and  will  bind  up  that  whicii 
was  broken,  and  will  strengthen  that  which 
was  sick;" — for  the  lost  and  the  scattered, 
and  the  broken-hearted,  and  the  sick,  now 
met  in  health,  in  cheerfulness,  and  in  hope; 
and  of  those  happy  people,  you  would  have 
said,  "Behold!  how  good  and  pleasant  it  is 
for  brethren  to  dwell  together  in  unity."  For 
as,  after  the  natural  storm  and  tempest,  calm 
is  sweet,  and  it  is  a  pleasant  thing  for  the 
eyes  to  behold  the  sun — so,  after  the  whirl- 
wind of  persecution,  thus  to  meet  again  in 
the  bond  of  Christian  fellowship,  in  the  still- 
ness and  repose  of  peace,  was,  to  these  lioly, 
simple  people,  sweet  and  soft  as  the  drop- 
ping of  the  gentle  dew  from  heaven — as  the 
*'dew  of  Hermon  or  of  Zion;  for  there  the 
Lord  commandeth  the  blessing, — even  life  for 
evermore." 

And  here,  my  beloved  readers,  I  might  add 
one  or  two  sentences  of  solemn  admonition, 
before  concluding  my  history.     But  I  trust 


f^-  . 


PIERRE  AND   HIS   FAMILY.  205 

you  have  been  enabled  to  see  that  tho  lesson 
it  is  chiefly  intended  to  iinj)art,  is  to  lead  you 
to  the  perusal  of  that  hook  which  contains 
all  the  treasures  of"  wisdom;  and  not  oidy  to 
prize  your  Bible  above  all  things  yourself,  but 
to  dispose  you  to  communicate  tlie  knowledge 
of  it  to  your  less  favoured  brethren  around 
you,  or  to  those  at  a  distance,  who,  like  Phi- 
lippe and  his  family,  in  the  day  of  their  igno- 
rance, may  not  know  that  there  is  such  a 
blessed  book  as  the  Word  of  God  in  the 
world. 

The  Bible  is  the  charter  both  of  the  religion 
and  of  the  liberty  of  the  Christian.  The  re- 
ligion of  the  Bible  is  a  religion  of  love.  It 
abhors  persecution — it  knits  human  beings  to 
each  other — it  sanctifies  the  affections — it 
gives  to  character  a  species  of  heroism,  which 
enables  man — as  in  the  case  of  the  Waldenses 
— to  sustain  oppression,  cruelty,  and  con- 
tumely, with  the  dignity  of  an  immortal 
creature,  and  with  a  constancy  of  endurance 
which  shows  that  its  origin  is  from  Heaven. 

The  religion  of  the  Bible  also  teaches  the 
subject  not  only  to  respect  his  sovereign,  but, 
with  an  interchange  of  feeling  w^hich  the  Gos- 
pel alone  can  inspire,  teaches  the  sovereign 
to  respect  his  subject. 

If,  then,  we  have  seen,  in  the  history  of 
Pierre  anil  his  Family,  the  evils  arising  from 
S 


i 


206 


PIERRE  AND  HIS   FAMILY. 


a  false  religion  and  a  despotic  government, — 
let  us  give  thanks  to  God  for  the  purer  dispen- 
sation of  trutii  whicli  we  enjoj,  and  for  that 
happier  government  with  which  he  hath  blessed 
our  country,  where  every  "man  may  sit  un- 
der his  own  vine,  and  under  his  own  tig-tree, 
with  none  to  make  him  afraid." 


NOTES. 


Page  25. 

Amoito  a  great  many  other  charges  brought  against 
the  Waldenses,  by  the  Roman  Catholic  writers  of  those 
days,  the  following  are  mentioned  by  Jones,  in  his  His- 
tory of  the  Waldenses^  page  361. 

"  Whatsoever  is  preached  without  scripture  proof, 
the  Waldenses  account  no  better  than  fables.  They 
hold  that  the  Holy  Scripture  is  of  the  same  efficacy  in 
the  vulgar  tongue  as  in  Latin,  and  accordingly  they 
communicate  and  administer  the  sacraments  in  the 
vulgar  tongue.  They  can  say  a  great  part  of  the  Old 
and  New  Testament  by  heart." 

Another  author,  quoted  by  the  same  historian,  ac- 
knowledges that  the  Waldenses  were  "  so  well  instruct- 
ed in  the  Holy  Scriptures,  that  he  had  seen  peasants 
who  could  recite  the  whole  book  of  Job  verbatim^  and 
several  others  who  could  perfectly  repeat  the  whole  of 
the  New  Testament." — Jones,  p.  335. 

The  following  account  of  the  proficiency  oi  Little 
Children  is  exceedingly  interesting : — "  In  the  time  of 
a  great  persecution  of  the  Waldenses  of  Merindol  and 
Provence,  a  certain  monk  was  deputed,  by  the  bishop 


208  NOTES. 

of  Cavaillon,  to  hold  a  conference  with  tnem,  that  they 
might  be  convinced  of  their  errors,  and  the  eflfusion  of 
blood  prevented.  But  the  monk  returned  in  confusion, 
owning  that  in  his  whole  life  he  had  never  known  so 
much  of  the  scriptures  as  he  had  learned  during  those 
few  days  that  he  had  been  conversing  with  the  heretics. 
The  bishop,  however,  sent  among  them  a  number  of 
doctors,  young  men,  who  had  lately  come  from  the  Sor- 
bonne,  which,  at  that  time,  was  the  very  centre  of  theo- 
logical subtilty  at  Paris.  One  of  these  publicly  owned 
that  he  had  understood  more  of  the  doctrine  of  salva- 
tion from  the  answers  of  the  little  children  in  their 
catechisms,  than  by  all  the  disputations  which  he  had 
ever  before  heard." — Ibid.  p.  385. 

The  manner  in  which  these  pious  and  zealous  Chris- 
tians endeavoured  to  spread  the  savour  of  that  know- 
ledge which  they  possessed,  for  the  instruction  and 
conversion  of  others,  is  both  simple  and  striking,  and 
may  well  deserve  the  attention  of  missionaries  of  the 
present  day : — 

"  It  seems  to  have  been  a  common  practice  with  their 
teachers,  the  more  readily  to  gain  access  for  their  doe- 
trine  among  persons  in  the  higher  ranks  of  life,  to  carry 
with  them  a  small  box  of  trinkets,  or  articles  of  dress, 
something  like  the  hawkers  or  pedlars  of  our  day,  and 
Reinerius  thus  describes  the  manner  in  which  they 
were  wont  to  introduce  themselves  : — 

"  Sir, — Will  you  please  to  buy  any  rings,  or  seals, 
or  trinkets '' — Madam,  will  you  look  at  any  handker- 


X0TE9.  209 

chiefs,  (»r  pieces  of  needle-work,  for  veib?  [  can  afford 
them  clieap." — If,  after  a  purchase,  the  company  aak, 
"  Have  you  any  thing  more  r''  the  salesman  would  re- 
ply, "  O  yes,  I  have  commodities  far  more  valuable 
than  these,  and  I  will  make  you  a  present  of  them,  if 
you  will  protect  me  from  the  clergy."  Security  being 
promised,  he  would  go  on  to  say,  "  The  inestimable 
jewel  I  spoke  of,  is  the  word  of  God,  by  which  he 
communicates  his  mind  to  men,  and  which  inflames 
their  hearts  with  love  to  him."  '  In  the  sixth  month 
the  angel  Gabriel  was  sent  from  God  unto  a  city  of 
Galilee  named  Nazareth' — and  so  he  would  proceed 
to  repeat  the  remaining  part  of  the  first  chapter  of 
Luke.  Or,  he  would  begin  with  the  thirteenth  of 
John,  and  repeat  the  last  discourse  of  Jesus  to  his  dis- 
ciples. If  the  company  should  seem  pleased,  he  would 
proceed  to  repeat  the  twenty-third  of  Matthew  :  '  The 

scribes  and  pharisees  sit  in  Moses'  seat Wo  unto 

you;  ye  shut  up  the  kingdom  of  heaven  against  men  : 
for  ye  neither  go  in  yourselves,  neither  suffer  ye  them 
that  are  entering,  to  go  in.  Wo  unto  you,  ye  devour 
widows'  houses.' — "  And  pray,"  should  one  of  the 
company  say,  "  against  whom  are  these  woes  denoun- 
ced, think  you  ?"  he  would  reply,  "  Against  Uie  clergy 
and  the  monks.  The  doctors  of  the  Roman  church  are 
pompous,  both  in  their  habits  and  their  manners — they 
love  the  uppermost  rooms,  and  the  chief  seats  in  the 
synagogues,  and  to  be  called  Rabbi,  Rabbi.  For  our 
j.urts,  we  desire  no  such  Rabbies.  They  are  the  rich 
S  2 


210 


NOTES. 


and  uA-aricious,  of  whom  the  Lord  says, — '  Wo  unto 
you,  ye  rich,  for  ye  have  received  your  consohitioii ;' 
but  we,  '  having  food  and  raiment,  are  therewitli  coP' 
tent.'  They  are  voluptuous,  and  devour  widows' 
houses :  we  only  eat  to  be  refreshed  and  supported. — 
They  fight  and  encourage  wars,  and  command  the  poor 
to  be  killed  and  burnt,  in  defiance  of  the  saying,  *■  He 
that  taketh  the  sword  shall  perish  by  the  sword.'  For 
our  parts,  they  persecute  us  for  righteousness'  sake. 
They  do  nothing,  but  eat  the  bread  of  idleness :  we 
work  with  our  hands.  They  monopolize  the  giving 
of  instruction,  and  '  wo  be  to  them  that  take  away  the 
key  of  knowledge :'  but,  among  us,  one  disciple,  as 
soon  as  he  is  informed  himself,  teaches  another. — 
Among  them,  you  can  hardly  fijid  a  doctor  who  can 
repeat  thi-ee  chapters  of  the  New  Testament  by  heart ; 
but  of  us  there  is  scarcely  man  or  woman  Avho  doth 
not  retain  the  whole.  And  because  we  are  sincere  be- 
lievers in  Christ,  and  all  teach  and  enforce  a  holy  life 
and  conversation,  these  Scribes  and  Pharisees  perse- 
cute us  to  death,  as  their  predecessors  did  Jesus  Christ." 
/6irf.  p.390,391. 

Note  11.  page  42. 

"  Against  the  Waldenses,"  says  Thuanus,  "  when 
exquisite  punishments  availed  little,  and  the  evil  was 
exasperated  by  the  remedy  which  had  been  unseason- 
ably applied,  and  their  numbei-  increased  daily,  com^ 


211 


plete  armies  were  at  len,^th  raised,  and  a  war  of  no  less 
weight  than  wliat  our  people  had  before  waged  against 
the  Saracens,  was  determined  aijainst  thern.  The  result 
was,  tliat  they  were  ratJier  slain,  put  to  flight,  spoiled 
every  where  of  their  goods  and  possessions,  and  dis- 
persed abroad,  than  convinced  of  their  error  and 
brouglit  to  repentance.  So  that  they  who  at  first  had 
defended  themselves  by  arms,  fled  into  Provence,  and 
the  neighbouring  Alps  of  the  t'rench  territory,  aiid 
found  a  shelter  for  their  life  and  doctrine  in  those 
places.  Part  of  them  withdrew  into  Calabria,  and 
continued  there  a  long  while." — Ibid.  p.  448. 

J^ote  III.  jiage  50. 
"They,''  that  is,  tlie  Waldotees,  "  can  all  read  and 
write.  They  know  French  sufficiently  for  the  under- 
standing of  the  Bible  and  the  shiging  of  Psalms.  You 
can  scarcely  find  a  boy  among  them,  who  cannot  give 
you  an  intelligible  account  of  the  faith  which  they 
profess.  In  this,  they  resemble  their  bretlu^en  of  tlie 
other  vaUeys."— 76t(f.  p.  388. 

JVo/e  IF.  page  97. 
The  Holy  Office  is  the  name  given  to  the  Court  of 
Inquisition, — a  tribunal  which,  in  tlie  days  of  the  Wal- 
denses,  as  in  later  times,  charged  itself  with  tlie  punish- 
ment of  heretics.  In  this  court  it  was  customary  to 
extort  confession  by  means  of  torture.     n':'n':e,  tu  be 


212  NOTES. 

put  to  the  question^  was  another  word  for  undergoing 
the  anguish  of  the  rack.  But  such  of  my  readers  as 
wish  for  information  on  this  subject,  may  consult  the 
"  Book  of  Martyrs,"  page  151,  in  which  there  is  a  full 
account  of  this  dreadful  tribunal. 


J^ote  K  page  113. 
*'  About  the  year  1400,  a  violent  outrage  was  com- 
mitted by  the  Catholic  party  residing  in  that  neigh- 
bourhood, upon  the  Waldenses  who  inhabited  the 
valley  of  Pragela,  in  Piedmont.  The  Waldenses  fled 
to  one  of  the  highest  mountains  of  the  Alps,  with  their 
wives  and  children, — the  unhappy  mothers  carrying 
the  cradle  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  leading  such 
of  their  oflfspring  as  were  able  to  walk.  Their  inhuman 
invaders,  whose  feet  were  swift  to  shed  blood,  pursued 
them  in  their  flight,  until  night  came  on,  and  slew  a 
great  number  of  them  before  they  could  reach  the 
mountains.  Those  that  escaped,  were,  however,  re- 
served to  experience  a  fate  not  more  enviable.  Over- 
taken by  the  night,  they  wandered  up  and  down  the 
mountains,  covered  with  snow,  without  the  means  of 
shelter  from  the  inclemencies  of  the  weather,  or  of 
supporting  tlieraselves  under  it  by  any  of  the  blessings 
which  Providence  has  granted  for  that  purpose.  Be- 
numbed with  cold,  they  fell  easy  martyrs  to  tlie  seve- 
rity of  the  climate  ;  and,  when  the  shades  of  night  had 
passed  away,  there  were  found  in  their  cradles  or  lying 


NOTES.  213 

upon  the  snOWt  fourscore  of  their  infimts,  destitute  of 
life,  many  of  their  mothers  also  lyinj  dead  by  their 
side,  and  others  just  upon  the  point  of  expiring.'" — 
Jones^  p.  463. 

The  description  ^ven  of  the  state  of  the  Waldenaea 
who  survived  the  persecution  of  1686,  at  the  time  the 
order  came  for  their  release,  is  truly  afflicting.  The 
following  account  is  given  of  those  who  came  out  of 
the  prisons  on  the  proclamation  of  the  Duke  : — 

"  The  proclamation  was  made  at  the  Castle  of  Mon- 
dovi,  for  example,  and  at  five  o'clock  the  same  evening 
they  were  to  begin  a  march  of  four  or  five  leagues ! 
Before  the  morning  more  tlian  a  hundred  and  fifty  of 
them  sunk  under  the  burden  of  their  maladies  and  fa- 
tigues, and  died.  The  same  thing  happened  to  the 
prisoners  at  Fossan.  A  company  of  them  halted  one 
night  at  the  foot_of  Mount  Ccnis.  When  they  were 
about  to  march  the  next  morning,  they  pointed  the 
officer,  who  conducted  them,  to  a  terrible  tempest 
upon  the  top  of  the  mountain,  beseeching  him  to  allow 
them  to  stay  till  it  had  passed  away.  The  inhuman 
officer,  deaf  to  the  voice  of  pity,  insisted  on  their 
marching ;  tlie  consequence  of  which  was,  that  eighty- 
eix  of  their  number  died,  and  were  buried  in  that  hor- 
rible tempest  of  snow.  Some  merchants  that  afterwards 
crossed  the  mountains,  saw  tlie  bodies  of  these  misera- 
ble people  extended  on  the  snow,  the  mothen  claspir^ 
their  child r €71  in  their  arms." — Ihid.  p.  576. 


UCSB  UBU^Y  X-(^6^^r2J' 

£14  NOTES. 

JVb/e  FI.  page  164. 

The  feelings  of  the  Catholics  towards  the  persecuted 
Christians  of  those  days,  may  be  learned  from  the  fol- 
lowing circumstance,  related  by  the  author  already  so 
often  quoted  ;  it  occurred  after  a  battle  fought  in  Gas- 
cony,  between  the  armies  of  the  popish  party  and  tlie 
unhappy  Albigenses : — 

"  A  singular  disclosure  was  made  after  this  battle ; 
and  as  the  circumstance  tends  to  throw  a  ray  of  light 
upon  the  secret  history  of  these  times,  it  deserves  to  be 
recorded.  When  the  battle  of  Muret  was  over,  there 
was  found  among  the  slain  belonging  to  the  Albigenses, 
a  knight  in  black  armour.  On  examination,  behold  it 
was  found  to  be  none  other  than  Peter,  king  of  Aragon. 
There  also  lay  one  of  his  sons,  and  many  of  the  Ara- 
gonian  gentlemen  and  vassals,  who,  isrhile  ostensibly 
supporting  the  Roman  church,  had,*m  disguise,  been 
fighting  in  defence  of  the  Albigenses  1 1" — Ibid.  p.  440. 


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